


A Siege of Shadows

by Garowyn



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Horror, Mystery, Psychological, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garowyn/pseuds/Garowyn
Summary: Hijikata struggles with recurring nightmares of an incident that solidified the Shinsengumi’s fearsome reputation many years ago. As the nightmares intensify, Hijikata grows obsessed with hunting down a criminal, who may or may not exist.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	1. Afterimage

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Gintama or any pop culture references (which will be sparse, as this is a more serious story). There will be important end notes when this fic is complete, detailing its origins and inspirations. I can say, however, that this fic was originally a multi-chapter fic with a larger cast and plot, but I don’t think I’ll ever finish it. Instead, I shortened the general idea to a four-part story. 
> 
> Updates may take awhile, as a major project occupies most of my time right now. The first chapter will help gauge general interest, so if you’re curious to read more, showing your support is appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you to Ace for their feedback!
> 
> Chapter one mood inspiration music: 佃島やりっぱなし / Tsukudashima Yarippanashi by Yoko Kanno, Eyes of Ashura Castle soundtrack

Hijikata’s eyes flew open and he jolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, heart pounding in his ears. His jaw was sore, like he’d been clenching it in his sleep, and his nightwear, damp with sweat, clung to him like a second skin. Swallowing against a dry throat, he glanced around and saw the shadow of his uniform jacket hanging up by the wardrobe, and remembered that Tetsunosuke had presented it to him clean and ironed before bidding him well for the night. 

Nodding to himself, Hijikata relaxed with a sigh, muscle tension dissolving in an instant. He was still here, here in his room at the Shinsengumi Complex in complete safety, surrounded by soldiers on graveyard shift, and they would alert him to any intruders or an attack. His sword rested at the head of his futon, a comforting habit he’d fallen into since the nightmares had recommenced. 

Cigarette. He needed a cigarette.

He got up and fumbled through his jacket, retrieving a near empty pack and his lighter from the inside pockets and then moving to stand and smoke outside on the veranda.

A moonless night greeted him along with a breeze that tousled his hair and dried the sweat and chilled him just a little, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was real and tangible and not at all like the room in his nightmare. That room was heated with multiple candles, the air stifling and reeking of perspiration and blood.

Shaking his head clear of the memory, Hijikata concentrated on the city glow above the walls, imagining that he could almost hear the raucous laughter of late night bar and club patrons spilling out into the streets of districts that never slept. 

Kondou would tell him – _again_ – to seek advice on how to combat recurring nightmares. This was an era of peace they were moving into, an era where the Shinsengumi needed more of a purpose outside military life. As samurai and soldiers, they might never be free of the effects their dangerous lives had left on their minds and bodies, but Kondou was determined that they all try to overcome the trauma in order to live out the rest of their days in peace and happiness.

Hijikata glanced at the tiny embers on the end of his cigarette. Kondou would probably tell him to quit smoking, too. Think of his lungs, think of his teeth, think of his long-term health. Kondou was practically the Shinsengumi’s in-house doctor now, fretting over everyone’s health. By now, smoking was as natural as breathing, a hard habit to break, and he hadn’t planned on living this long to begin with. If he didn’t die by prolonged tobacco usage and overconsumption of mayonnaise, he’d go out protecting Kondou or the Shinsengumi or somebody’s life because his was not worth the cost of another, especially that of an innocent civilian in this new era. 

He’d bloodied his hands too often and too deeply to deserve happiness and forgiveness. 

Taking another long drag and exhaling smoke, Hijikata turned his tired eyes above the skyline to a dark sky where he could make out at least one glimmering star, small amid the vast cloud cover. 

The night sky had looked like this after he’d left that room.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Getting back to sleep would be difficult, but he had to try. Tomorrow, as always, was going to be busy. Besides, if he wound up with noticeable dark circles under his eyes again, Sougo would pester him about it. Kondou would recommend a sleep clinic. Tetsunosuke might go out and buy any number of sleeping aids and natural solutions that Hijikata didn’t want or need. 

Hijikata glanced around the courtyard of a place that had been his home for so many years. The trees and shrubbery and the pond Kondou had campaigned for to give their new dwelling a natural feel and remind the first Shinsengumi members of their rural birthplaces. The walls which had undergone numerous repairs from battles with Katsura and other enemies. The outdoor training grounds where he often caught Yamazaki practicing badminton instead. A memory of his time spent with the Shinsengumi – his life’s work for the better part of his twenties – was deeply engraved in every panel of wood and blade of grass within this place. 

The world beyond the walls was shifting and rebuilding itself, but the nightmares followed him like ghosts, refusing to relinquish their hold on his mind. 

Yawning, Hijikata finished his cigarette and climbed back into bed, praying his demons would grant him mercy to finish the night in dead silence instead of that agonizing scream, resounding in his nightmares.

* * *

Hijikata woke to an empty carton of cigarettes next to his pillow. Frowning slightly, he reached for it and inspected the inside, shaking it to confirm that it was indeed empty. Certain he’d had one more cigarette left, it took a moment for Hijikata to remember last night. With a heavy sigh, Hijikata dropped the carton and rolled onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes, making no attempt to rise. The nightmare had not returned, but his mind had been subject to one senseless dream after another, and now he could hardly remember what they had been about. All he knew was that he hadn’t slept at all.

Letting his arm go limp at his side again, Hijikata allowed his eyes to adjust to the morning light slipping through the cracks within the door frame, brightening the room with a warm glow, revealing his uniform hanging by the wardrobe, the new glass-door cabinet half-filled with a few history books, the _Yakuza vs Alien_ DVD series, an omamori for good health recently gifted by Kondou, and two ceramic sake cups and one pitcher with a blue theme sent to him by his older sister-in-law. Staring at the omamori, Hijikata wondered if he should quit smoking. The third time was supposed to be the charm, after all.

There was a knock at the door, and Tetsunosuke’s hesitant yet cheerful voice called out, “Vice-Chief? Are you awake yet?”

Hijikata closed his eyes and replied, “Yes.”

“Oh, good! I was worried for a moment that you might be coming down with something.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’ve been in your quarters all morning, and—”

“What time is it?”

“Twenty minutes until our scheduled patrol,” Tetsunosuke answered, “To be more precise, 8:40 AM.”

Hijikata’s eyes snapped open, as his body stiffened in shock. He was supposed to have woken up two hours ago. 

“Shit!” Hijikata scrambled out of his futon and reached first for his jacket. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“I’m sorry, sir! I thought you must be very tired from all the events of the past week, and I didn’t want to disturb you—”

“Never mind! Go buy me another pack of Mayoboros,” Hijikata demanded, shrugging out of his nightwear, “I’m all out.”

“Certainly! At the usual corner shop?”

“Whatever’s faster. Now get going!”

“Right away, Vice-Chief!” Tetsunosuke’s pounding footsteps faded into the distance.

Hijikata dressed and prepared himself in record time, ignoring his stomach’s protests for sustenance. He’d find something to satisfy his hunger later.

In the hallway, he passed curious officers, who were well aware of the fact that he had overslept, which was a rare occurrence and definitely not typical of a man who tried to lead by example. Growling a warning to them about loitering and seppuku, the officers quickly reverted to professionalism, offering apologies that Hijikata barely heard, as he made his way toward Kondou, who stood at the end with the senior accountant.

“Morning, Toushi!” Kondou said, looking up from a report, “It’s not often you choose to sleep in.” 

Hijikata adjusted his cravat and then squared his shoulders. “I didn’t _choose_ to sleep in, Kondou-san, I was…” Catching sight of the accountant’s curious gaze, Hijikata changed the subject. “What seems to be the problem?” He nodded toward the report.

Kondou’s explanation about this month’s budget supply took on a distant note, as Hijikata yawned and blinked away the resulting prickle of tears. With the rush of information and only five minutes left until his patrol shift began, Hijikata felt frustrated and disoriented, like only half of himself was present. He had had sleepless nights before and times of quiet contemplation well into the midnight hour, but he had always managed to wake up early, earlier than most. 

After sending the accountant off with a task, Kondou turned to Hijikata and asked, “Did you sleep well? You yawned three times while I was talking.” Kondou chuckled. “Was I that boring?”

Now that they were alone for a few moments, Hijikata was more comfortable in answering, “No, I didn’t get enough sleep, but I’m fine.”

Just then, before Kondou could question him further, Tetsunosuke raced around the corner, a pack of Mayoboros in hand. Sliding to a stop before the two leaders, Tetsunosuke greeted Kondou with a salute first and then handed the cigarettes to Hijikata. “We were in luck! They had one last pack of Mayoboros! Their new stock hadn’t arrived yet. There was a new cashier, but he said his boss told him to set it aside for you, Vice-Chief, because you’re such a loyal customer, the most loyal of all his customers—”

“ _All right_ , I get it,” Hijikata said, taking the cigarettes and fumbling with the wrap. He’d missed his usual early morning smoke break, and he was going to need it with an energetic Tetsunosuke at his side for patrol. Glancing at the clock hanging above the doorway, Hijikata noted that there was half a minute to spare before his shift began. He had not been late to that, at least.

As if the day couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start already, Sougo entered the hallway, looked around for someone of interest, and set off in their direction once he spotted him. Sougo’s patrol partner for the day, Kumanaku, followed close behind.

After exchanging a few words with Kondou, Sougo glanced at Hijikata. “Are you going away forever, Hijikata-san?”

Hijikata frowned, not in the mood for Sougo’s usual deadpan remarks laced with spite.

“What makes you say that?” Kondou asked.

“Because,” Sougo answered, pointing at Hijikata’s face, “I’ve never seen such heavy luggage under his eyes. Those bags must be packed full of mayonnaise, his only possession.”

Hijikata gritted his teeth and coolly replied, “Watch it or I’ll personally send _you_ packing.”

Kondou chuckled and commented on how things never changed. He and Kumanaku and Tetsunosuke exchanged brief conversation while Sougo popped his bubblegum, further annoying Hijikata with a pointed look. 

And yet, as he listened to the men carry on and fill the once silent halls with life again, Hijikata felt his irritation melt away in relief. This was how it should be. In moments like these, he could forget everything that haunted him in the dead of night.

* * *

Only those with undisguised malicious intent in their eyes or their aura immediately drew his attention. Hijikata’s gaze swept past each person that lacked both, seldom lingering long, as he and Tetsunosuke patrolled busy morning streets. Hundreds of faces swarmed his vision every day, and he didn’t remember many unless there was something singular about them, like a visible tattoo or scar. 

Or an unusual birthmark.

Hijikata puffed on his cigarette, finding himself on the precipice of a memory, his mind’s eyes gazing down into a shadowy void that grew wider and blacker the longer he lingered above, contemplating its depth. Tetsunosuke’s comments on the pleasant weather after the last few days of rainfall were lost to sound of an echoing scream from far down below in the endless dark. 

There had been a codename for the man among his enemies: _Shi_. Not solely for the number of fingers remaining on his right hand, but for the shape of the birthmark on the left side of his neck, a small discoloured line curving at the end in a remarkable resemblance to the hiragana, _し_. 

Like death.

Perhaps the man had been fated to die young, although official records stated that he had left behind a wife, but no other known family members. The wife had died in recent years. More than once, Hijikata had considered tracking her down, but when he thought about what it would be like to stand before her, no words came to mind. He didn’t know what he could say or if he _should_ say anything at all. He and her husband had been on opposing sides of a conflict that would result in one of them dying for what or who they believed in. Death was inevitable in a turbulent era.

Her husband just happened to be the unlucky one.

A waving hand in front of his face pulled Hijikata away from the edge. Focusing his attention on reality, Hijikata looked at Tetsunosuke and frowned. “ _What?_ ” he asked with a rough note of irritation. 

Tetsunosuke withdrew his hand, regarding Hijikata with confusion for a brief moment before saying, “We’re coming up just on the heels of a fresh crime scene.”

A middle-aged woman stood in front of the door leading into her porcelain gift shop, the floor length door smashed to pieces. The shopkeeper was unharmed, though shaken. According to Tetsunosuke, the crime had occurred about fifteen minutes ago, the young culprits making off with a handful of small items. 

“Grand theft,” Tetsunosuke said, “The value of the stolen wares amounts to over 100,000 yen.” 

“It was a man and a woman,” the shopkeeper said with a deep-set frown, wringing her hands together, “They knocked over a table, too, smashing this month’s tea set display. It was worth even more.”

“She called the police already, but it’s lucky we happened to be in the area already,” Tetsunosuke said, and he turned to the shopkeeper. “Don’t worry, madam. The Shinsengumi are excellent at catching criminals. We’ll get your porcelain back!” 

Hijikata took out his cigarette and extinguished it in a nearby ashtray box. “Take her full statement, Tetsu.” Hijikata glanced in the unbroken window displaying more porcelain ware, one set featuring red camellia designs against white. “They’ve probably run too far to pursue on foot now. What we’ll need to do is—” He stopped, the glass reflecting a passerby on the other side of the street, hurrying along.

“Vice-Chief?”

Hijikata’s breath caught in his throat, and he spun around and broke into a run.

“Sir? Where are you going? Vice-Chief!”

Ignoring Tetsunosuke’s questions, Hijikata plunged headlong into the crowd, maneuvering around people like a wolf zeroing in on its prey, following that single head of long hair that never turned back once. Hijikata spared no time to apologize when he knocked someone’s bag out of their hands, their irate words falling upon ears that were tuning out the crowd’s indecipherable clamour, replaced with the pounding of his heart. 

The man he pursued should be dead.

Entering a thin alleyway full of restaurants and pubs and food stalls thick with scents of grilling meats and frying fish, Hijikata swore under his breath when he saw the throng of hungry people that packed the alley. He had lost his quarry, and through the simple and common tactic of a petty thief. Clenching his teeth together, Hijikata marched into the alleyway, stopping every now and then to peer under colourful noren and into capacity-filled eateries. The man couldn’t have gone that far or disappeared too quickly within a minute. Rising steam and liquor-tinged laughter further assaulted his senses, threatened to distract him from finding that long-haired man. What had he been wearing? A plain, dark blue yukata – or had it been brown? Hijikata had been so focused on that familiar face and hairstyle and birthmark, locked within a memory, that he hadn’t taken note of other details. 

After several minutes of frantic searching, Hijikata stopped at the end of the lane, where another alley would take him back to the main street or to the river walk. Debating whether he should check the river walk, Hijikata didn’t hear Tetsunosuke until he was right behind him, calling out his name. 

Appearing slightly winded from the running after Hijikata through dense crowds, Tetsunosuke wiped his furrowed brow and asked, “Vice-Chief, what’s going on? Who were you chasing? Did you find the porcelain thieves?”

Eyes darting around the area, hoping he might still spot the man, Hijikata replied, “I…I was chasing…” The name printed on the death certificate he had held in his own hands grew muddled on his tongue, as if saying the name might conjure a worse memory that he didn’t wish to dwell on right now. The dead didn’t return to life, and he and Tetsunosuke were duty-bound to patrol the living. “I thought I saw a pickpocket, but it was just a brat pranking another brat.” 

“Oh…” Tetsunosuke glanced around with an amused smile, searching for the innocent culprits. “Oh, I can see how that might alarm you. I’m glad it was only a prank.”

Feeling very much like someone had played a prank on him, Hijikata reached inside his coat pocket for a fresh cigarette, and lit up. “Let’s go,” he said, leading the way back to the main street, resisting the urge to look behind him for any lurking ghost.

* * *

Hijikata opened the file, _Golden Maple Inn, 1863,_ to the first page that outlined the basic facts of the incident for those with little time on their hands. Though the file had been archived for years, the paper within was mottled with brown spots and yellowed edges, and the ink was fading on some pages. This was the original document, handwritten by one of the first members of the Shinsengumi who had been killed in action last year, denying Hijikata the chance for questions. There was a typed version available, and in the past year, a small task force had begun digitizing the documents as well, but Hijikata wanted to read the original in case details had been omitted by accident or on purpose. 

Nothing had changed since he last read it. The day was the same, the number of men in the newly formed Shinsengumi was the same, and the number of deaths on either side was the same. Matsudaira and Kondou had both signed it off, sealing the case. On paper, this was all an outsider needed to know about the incident. 

But something important was missing.

Hijikata reread the page concerning the raid itself, the account transporting him back to that late summer evening when the Shinsengumi, a fraction of their current size, had tracked down their target based on a mole’s tip. The success of the mission was vital to the future of the Shinsengumi. Anyone who drew their sword could expect to die by it, as well. Sacrifices were expected. This was all for the good of the country, they’d been told. 

The anti-government insurgents would’ve been told the very same thing. 

“Toushi!”

Shoulders jerking upward in response, as if scolded, Hijikata looked up from his reading, and remembered that he was in the meeting hall, seated side by side with Kondou. “What is it?” he asked.

“I called you five times,” Kondou said, a slight frown marring his otherwise cheerful features. “Our meeting is about to start.”

Hijikata then noticed that all the captains had gathered, each one of them casting furtive glances his way in between their murmured conversations. Narrowing his eyes at them, Hijikata turned to Kondou and answered, “Sorry, I was caught up in reading this.”

“What is that?”

Hijikata closed the file and set it on his right side, out of Kondou’s view. “Research for Matchstick.” Operation Matchstick was set to start in five days under Hijikata’s sole command with the First and Second Units working to smoke out a new radical faction that enjoyed explosives far too much. That mission would be on today’s meeting agenda. 

“Are you all right, Toushi?” 

Ashamed to cause Kondou unnecessary worry, but also not wanting the matter pressed further before their men, Hijikata gave a resolute nod. “I am. Let’s begin.” He addressed the captains, eager to avoid meeting Kondou’s unconvinced gaze again. 

* * *

Driving was one way to occupy his mind and leave room for nothing else. 

Today’s morning patrol scheduled saddled him with Sougo. Of all the patrols Hijikata conducted with Sougo, the mornings were the worst ones because Sougo stayed up longer at night – most likely plotting misdeeds – and would nap all through the morning if Kondou let him. 

Hijikata typically delegated driving to Sougo, but this time he took the wheel with no complaint from Sougo, who had set about napping almost immediately. Somehow Sougo had mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open, and had probably fooled many an unsuspecting colleague. Unmistakable snoring, light as it was, would not save him from upholding his duties with his superior in the car with him.

Hijikata reached over and pushed Sougo’s head to the window, none too gently. “Wake up or I’ll kill you.”

Groaning at the sudden force of his head against glass, Sougo rubbed at his eyes and glared at him. “That hurt, you bastard.”

“Shut up and do your damn job.”

They cruised through a sea of high-rise buildings nestled around the Terminal, keeping an eye out for lawbreakers or anything suspicious. Expensive shops and restaurants and hotels filled this part of the city along with a vast number of Amanto embassies and numerous pachinko parlours. Traditional shrines and temples and similar structures could also be found, now prime tourist attractions. Illegal gambling facilities and other unlawful activities lurked beneath the glitz and glamour. And no matter where they went, they could see the Terminal rising into the sky, playing host to starships coming and going. With raucous music and traffic noise blasting alongside the thrum of ships above, the heart of Edo was Hijikata’s least favourite place to be, but patrolling through here was part of their assignment.

“Stop at that gas station,” Sougo said with a yawn, pointing at the one on the corner, “You can fill up while I get something to keep me awake. We’ve been at this all day.” 

“We started patrol fifteen minutes ago, you idiot.”

“Really? It seems like I’ve been in this car for a whole year with you driving like a zombie. What happened? Did you just get your license yesterday, Hijikata-san?” Sougo asked, drawling out the name in that annoying way of his.

Hijikata glanced at the speedometer. “I’m driving the limit exact. What kind of cops would we be if we break the laws we’re trying to enforce?” He paused, as another thought occurred to him. “You do follow the speed limits when you’re driving with others, right? I bet you don’t.”

“Of course, I do,” Sougo answered, “I’m offended that you believe I wouldn’t— _hurt,_ even. I don’t even turn on the sirens just to get through a traffic jam in time for a rakugo performance, either. I would never do that. Not even twice.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” Hijikata sighed, and focused on his driving, decelerating to make a turn into a district known for yakuza activity. No matter how many bosses, accountants, or lieutenants they locked up, another always rose up and replaced the missing link in their hierarchy. Enforcing the law upon gangs whose numbers rarely dwindled was an endless job that the Shinsengumi were obligated to take up when the power of the syndicate overwhelmed the regular police force. 

But today the yakuza weren’t on his mind. Hijikata scanned the sidewalks not for a gang member but a different person altogether. Scanner reports were unintelligible to him. 

“Hijikata-san…”

Hijikata heard the declaration of death by the witness on that day when their long pursuit of a man in league with the Kiheitai had ended with his execution. Therefore, it was both logically and factually impossible for him to have seen a dead man wandering the streets of modern Edo, and yet the hairstyle and the birthmark on the neck had been unmistakable. 

“Oi, what are you doing—stop!”

It could only be him—

A hand gripped Hijikata's shoulder, tight as steel. _“Stop!!”_

Hijikata slammed on the brakes the split second he heard Sougo’s alarmed voice. Thrown forward, restrained only by the compressing weight of their seatbelts, Hijikata gawked at a semi-truck speeding by, its ear-piercing horn filling the air, sending vibrating tremors throughout the vehicle. Any closer, and it would have hooked their bumper or slammed into the front or otherwise crushed their compartment and their bones if he hadn’t heard Sougo in time.

For at least ten good seconds, no one spoke. Hijikata swallowed several times on a dry throat, his hands frozen stiff on the wheel, heart pounding in his ears.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Sougo demanded when he found his voice again, glowering at Hijikata while unbuckling his seatbelt. “Didn’t you see that the light was red?” 

Hijikata opened his mouth to answer, but his tongue felt rooted to the bottom of his mouth, refusing to form words. Beyond the dashboard, traffic flowed normally, as if he hadn’t tried to force his way into the current. 

“ _Get out,_ ” Sougo said, opening his door, “I’m taking over. As long as you’re driving, this car is a death trap. It’s like driving with Urobuchi Gen – there are death flags popping up all over the dash."

No longer sure of himself in front of the wheel, Hijikata surrendered the driver’s seat to Sougo, switching quickly before the lights became green. Still unable to speak, or rather unwilling, Hijikata leaned back against the headrest, eyes fixed upon the vehicle in front of them, as the blaring horn and screeching tires replayed in his mind, the brush of death as near as his own gasping breath in that moment.

“You’re making it too easy for me to replace you as Vice-Chief,” Sougo remarked when they had driven a couple of blocks ahead. “We can’t have a Vice-Chief who fails to stop for red lights and endangers his subordinates.”

Eyelids fluttering shut, weighed down by a sudden heaviness on mind and body, Hijikata muttered, “Sougo…shut the hell up.”

“I don’t think you’re getting it. We could’ve died back there, which would’ve worked out fine if it was just _you_ , but I would’ve died _with_ you, and I can’t think of a worse fate.” Sougo paused to circle right, adding, “Except maybe dying with Kamiyama.”

“At least when I’m dead, I won’t have to listen to your stupid voice anymore.”

“Hijikata-san…what were you _thinking?_ No, you weren’t thinking at all…”

Lacking the energy to answer or interrupt Sougo’s sullen mutterings, Hijikata stared out the window, barely registering shops and passersby past his own reflection. What had he been thinking of, distracted to such a point that he would carelessly endanger both their lives? It was that man…

The man with the long hair and grey kimono and green sash, currently slipping around the corner of a building, the unmistakable _shi_ -shaped birthmark below his ear.

“Stop!” Hijikata struggled against his seatbelt and the door handle at once. “Stop the car, damn it!” Sougo braked fast the second Hijikata’s finger pressed down and released the belt with a click, and he was thrown against the dashboard. Undeterred, Hijikata shoved the door open with a single kick. 

“Where are you going? _Hijikata-san!”_

“Out of my way!” Hijikata snapped. Pushing through a gathering of shoppers and crossing over to the previous block, he ignored the horns of disgruntled drivers forced to stop for him. Sprinting down the sidewalk, he saw the man turn another corner. 

Hijikata drew his sword.

When he reached the mouth of the back alley, there was an idling loading truck with its rear doors open, stacks of wooden crates and unidentifiable items packed inside. Hijikata checked the immediate area, and finding nothing, hurried over to the driver’s side of the truck. No one was inside. Casting a glance down the alleyway revealed a couple of dumpsters and flattened cardboard boxes and a stray cat frozen in position, watching him with wary eyes and a twitching tail.

Not a single soul otherwise haunted the alley. 

As far as he could tell, doors were closed. This was not a restaurant district, where steam and scents of herbs and spices overflowed from open doors that employees leaned against during their cigarette break. The details were scant and fuzzy, but Hijikata recalled mostly high-end clothing shops, travel agencies, insurance brokers, and cell phone huts. At this time of the day, there was no reason for people to be hanging out in the back when business was thriving in the front. 

A man, presumably the driver of the truck, stepped out from a door, clipboard in hand with a woman in a fancy kimono and hairstyle, discussing the importance of delivering her wares carefully. Their conversation halted when Hijikata stalked toward them, the man spending more time staring at Hijikata’s lowered blade than Hijikata himself.

“Where is he?” Hijikata demanded, constantly looking back and forth between the duo and the alleyway. “There was a man who came through here. _Where is he??”_

“We were in my shop,” the woman answered, curving a thinly plucked eyebrow upward, “Nobody came in and out except the driver here, and he’s been with me the whole time—”

A clatter of loosened crates crashing to the pavement spurred Hijikata into action, spinning around, raising his blade. Spying the fallen crates at the corner of the next building, Hijikata rushed toward them, wondering why he didn’t notice someone hiding behind the crates—and if they had been hiding, how could a grown man have squeezed into such a small space to begin with? 

But when he reached the corner, no one was running down the sidewalk. There were three civilians walking toward him, but they stopped and waited, wide-eyed. 

Pounding footsteps alerted him to a presence behind, and Hijikata spun around, ready to attack or defend.

But it was only Sougo with one hand on the hilt of his undrawn sword and one puzzled frown on his face.

Hijikata glanced back down the other way, and then back to Sougo. “Somebody ran past you – how come you didn’t stop him?!”

“Nobody got past me except for a cat – and if that’s what you’re chasing, then I’m extremely disappointed, Hijikata-san. I’m double-parked, you know. Maybe I’ll arrest _you_ for that.”

“I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Sougo,” Hijikata snarled, “You failed to apprehend a suspect.”

“I didn’t fail at anything. If there’s anyone who failed here, it’s you.” Sougo narrowed his eyes. “I saw no one, and that’s the truth.”

Grip tightening on his sword, Hijikata held Sougo’s gaze, daring him to make light one more time.

“I lie about a lot of things,” Sougo continued in a cool voice, “but why would I lie about this?” 

Staring into those deep crimson eyes that too much resembled blood in this moment, Hijikata conceded that Sougo was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie, and as much as they were prone to bickering, both knew not to mess around with criminal pursuits. 

His breathing evening out, Hijikata stepped back and lowered his sword. Behind Sougo, civilians were gathered in clumps off to the side while a lower ranked police officer rushed over, asking if they required back-up. The cat Sougo spoke of slunk away through a multitude of legs, vanishing from sight. 

Sheathing his sword and feeling very much like a fool, Hijikata explained that in his hastiness to complete a mission, he mistook a labourer for a fugitive high on their priority list. Ordering the bystanders to clear out and carry on with their business, Hijikata stalked toward the car, all too aware of Sougo’s penetrating gaze knifing deep within the back of his head. 

* * *

The warm night drew upon him like a comforting blanket, but did nothing to remove the chill from his memories. Sitting in his futon, arms crossed, staring glumly at the remaining chunk of wax and the small burning wick providing just enough light to reach the edges of the closed shoji. He was in no mood to interact with anyone, and simply resigned himself to a hermit’s lifestyle for the evening.

Sougo had wasted no time in reporting Hijikata’s blunders to Kondou, suddenly talkative after continuing their patrol with sparse communication and frosty silence. If the roles were reversed, or if someone else had committed errors, Hijikata would likewise make a report, duty-bound to preserving protocol. Ordinarily, Hijikata took it in stride when Sougo made reports about him with malicious intent, fully aware of the younger man’s ambition in unseating him. But this time, Sougo grimly presented his account with a cold stare that followed Hijikata out of the room. He had nothing to say for himself before Kondou, who only asked him to reflect and rest for the remainder of the day.

And so Hijikata had secluded himself to the Archives, poring over the _Golden Maple Inn, 1863_ file again, and other related and earlier cases that had to do with the man in question and his faction. Anything to fill his mind with tangible facts instead of unwanted apparitions. 

The night they raided the inn had been about as warm as it was now, but more humid because he remembered the way sweat plastered clothing to the skin, dewed his forehead, and rolled down his back. He hadn’t cut his hair until the day they received new and modern uniforms, so his long hair then might as well have been a thick and heavy rope, weighing him down. While he hadn’t started smoking until a month later, his breathing had required a bit more effort, his lungs hampered by the muggy air and the tension that rippled through their group, preventing most of them from surrendering to summer sluggishness. The blood pounding away in his ears had seemed so loud, he worried catching the attention of their enemies.

The success of this mission would boost their reputation and the fear of their name, Shinsengumi.

Hijikata licked his dry lips, recalling the saltiness from that evening when he thought he’d drown in perspiration, and maybe that would’ve been preferable to the later events of the night.

Deciding he should sleep and rise early, Hijikata exhaled and rose to his feet, walking over to the table where the candle burned resolutely. The answer for why he had chosen an open flame instead of using the lantern provided danced around in his mind, like the flickering shadows along the walls. Dampening his thumb and forefinger with his tongue, his fingertips hovered above the flame, testing his threshold for heat, debating whether to keep the candle lit for the night, or to extinguish it and chance another nightmare in complete darkness. The radiating heat was close enough to dry out the saliva. Might singe the skin if he lingered too long and too close above the flame. His eyes fell upon the melting wax.

“Toushi? Are you in there?” came Kondou’s muffled voice beyond the outward door.

Tearing his eyes from the flickering light, and shaking his hand to rid his fingertips of uncomfortable heat, Hijikata hesitated a second before calling back, “What is it?” Kondou’s voice didn’t sound urgent, which eliminated the possibility of an emergency springing up, nor did he carry his usual buoyancy, which further piqued Hijikata’s curiosity for the reason behind Kondou’s inquiry this late in the evening.

“Are you busy?”

Hijikata thought for a moment, and then answered, “Sorry, I’m not up to drinking at Snack Smile tonight.” Even after foregoing romance with Shimura Tae, Kondou still dropped in now and then to drink to their newfound friendship, and sometimes Hijikata went along to keep Kondou out of trouble, especially if they had an important meeting the day after. 

“No, no, it’s not that. Is it all right to open the door?”

Hijikata answered by sliding it open himself, revealing Kondou dressed in his dark grey nightclothes, worried eyes soft against the harsh scar dividing his face almost in equal halves. “How are you feeling, Toushi?”

Hoping Kondou hadn’t come to discuss the morning’s incident, Hijikata replied, “I’m fine.”

“Sougo said you were constipated? Because if you are, then I know of several kinds of medication and homemade remedies for a suppository—” 

Hijikata’s mouth hardened into a flat line. “No, I’m _not_ constipated. Don’t believe everything Sougo says.”

“Can I believe him when he says he’s concerned about your ability to concentrate?”

Resisting the urge to outright laugh at such an absurdity, Hijikata averted his gaze to the top of the complex walls past Kondou’s shoulder. “His only concern is taking the vice-chief position from me. I can assure you, Kondou-san, that I’m feeling just fine, and that this morning was a momentary lapse of judgment owing to lack of sleep the night before. It won’t happen again.” Meeting Kondou’s eyes, Hijikata added in a firmer tone, “I promise.”

Kondou searched his face for several long moments that Hijikata started to feel cramped within the doorway, like the space had shrunk to a fissure in the walls, and he drew in a breath, eager to escape the sudden stifling nature of the air around them. 

Finally, Kondou nodded, and said, “All right, then. But if you are feeling unwell, I can go make you some rice porridge. How about it? I’ll even add a dab of mayonnaise!”

“You’d need to add more than a dab.” Wondering just what he had done in his life to deserve such kindness from a man he cherished as much as his older brother, Hijikata shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t see you at dinner. Did you eat at all?”

“It’s fine. I’ll eat in the morning.” 

“You know, Sougo _is_ worried about you.”

“Are you sure it’s not really _you_ who’s worried?”

Kondou gave him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to come down on you like a nagging parent.”

“Tetsu is more believable as a nagging parent than Sougo.” Hijikata returned his smile, though much more subdued.

Kondou chuckled. “That’s true!”

Hijikata covered a yawn. “If it’s all the same to you, Kondou-san, I’m going to turn in now. There’s a lot to do tomorrow. You should go to sleep, too.”

“Toushi…”

“What is it?”

“Are you having nightmares again?”

Hijikata looked him straight in the eye and replied, “No.” After a second’s worth of regret that he pushed aside in favour of clearing Kondou’s mind of worries, Hijikata lied again to his oldest friend by adding, “I’m thinking too much during the night – about the operation and all its preparations. I’ll sleep better when it’s all over.”

“You know you can always talk to me about them if they happen again,” Kondou said with that same probing gaze that overpowered his caring smile.

Hijikata nodded. “I know.” After a brief pause, he said, “Thank you.” 

Kondou left, and Hijikata stood there with a hand on the closed door, thinking about how he had lied with ease – well, it was only a half lie, a partial truth. He was thinking about Operation Matchstick, reviewing the details and hoping it would go smoothly. But, despite his mind’s attempts at justification, he failed to alleviate the guilt that seeded itself within his soul. There were few things he kept from Kondou, but those things were private matters that had no bearing on his current circumstances. Even if he wanted to keep Kondou from needlessly worrying, and had before provided vague answers or reassured Kondou that there was nothing to worry about, none of those situations had left Hijikata feeling like a small child, hiding in shame.

Returning to the candle, Hijikata stared into the swaying flame once more, recalling the mark on that man’s neck. How many out there would have the exact same birthmark on the right side of their neck? A distinct mark that was difficult to ignore. Maybe it wasn’t a birthmark, but a burn scar altered enough to resemble _shi._ Hijikata would never know for certain, but he would always remember that mark and the way it glistened with sweat and strained against tensed up neck muscles while the man struggled against his bonds.

How could someone have the very same mark, Hijikata wondered for the hundredth time. He blew the flame out with a quick breath, the scent of its death lingering in his nostrils for a moment before fading, leaving him alone in the dark.


	2. Tightrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Life (amid a pandemic and the holiday season) has been busy. I also changed a few details in my original outline, so I had to adjust accordingly.
> 
> Warning for a slightly graphic description near the end. Not full-out gore, but it might be a bit gruesome for some (and I’m easily squeamish, so even if you find it tame, I like to give warning, anyway).
> 
> Mood song inspiration:  
> \- “Gutter” by Lunatic Soul  
> \- “The Silent Flight of the Raven Winged Hours (Acoustic)” by Daniel Cavanagh  
> \- A few tracks from the 3:10 to Yuma soundtrack by Marco Beltrami

* * *

Hijikata rose sometime before dawn, unable to sleep.

Halfway through the night he had stopped trying, frustrated as the hours crawled by with endless tossing and turning. He decided to spend the early hours in quiet meditation on the veranda outside his room. The stillness of the outdoors, the freshness of the air, and the fading dark of the sky made him feel far from where he was, far from the presence of comrades and the shadows of his memories. He reveled in the temporary solace until the golden hues of the horizon brightened and the padded footsteps of another brought him back to reality.

“You’re awake early,” Hijikata remarked when Kondou sat down to join him. 

“There’s too much to do and only so much daylight to do it,” Kondou said, his smile breaking into a yawn, as he stretched his arms above his head and then behind his shoulders. “You’re up early, too. Couldn’t sleep again, huh?”

Hijikata shook his head, turning his gaze toward the dawning light emerging over the rooftops. “When this operation is all over…I’ll probably sleep like the dead.”

“I think we’ll all get a good night’s sleep.”

A comfortable silence settled upon them, one that Hijikata missed. Before the nightmares had begun again, their schedules had been filled to the brim with patrols, meetings, training, and more meetings, as the Shinsengumi negotiated a new path in the new era, leaving little time for leisure and socializing. Kondou had mentioned the possibility of their name changing as well, to merge with the existing police force but also remain a separate entity, working with Tokugawa Soyo and Imai Nobume for the good of the country. To imagine themselves under a different name wasn’t too impossible, for they had once been known as the Roshigumi. Names carried reputations, and Hijikata wondered if he might be relieved of a heavy burden if they bore a new name entirely.

Speaking of which, there was something else he wrestled with this morning. “Kondou-san…last night I wasn’t completely honest with you,” Hijikata began, drawing in a deep breath. “And I can’t continue on without telling you.”

“Oh?”

“The truth is…” Hijikata paused to look at Kondou, focused on the lines of weariness around his eyes, the broadness of shoulders that carried the weight of the Shinsengumi and the protection of the city everyday. “Sougo was right.”

“About the constipation?”

“No,” Hijikata replied quickly, still unwilling to go with that excuse, as he was not usually prone to such an affliction. “Not that. But he was right in suggesting that I wasn’t feeling well because…I wasn’t. You see, I…” Hijikata couldn’t recall a recent time in which he was this tongue-tied, struggling against the construction of lie layered atop another lie. “I think the stress about this operation has been getting to me, affecting me physically. There’s a lot riding on our success, and also…I don’t want to let you down.” That part couldn’t be truer, although he felt he was already letting Kondou down now as much himself in not telling the whole truth.

Kondou regarded him seriously for a moment, and then started chuckling. “Toushi, you could never let me down,” he said, reaching out to clasp Hijikata’s shoulder with a kind hand, “You’re an excellent leader and a skilled warrior. I know you’ll do well. The city is lucky to have you here.”

Kondou’s words were genuine and heartfelt, but instead of boosting his confidence or warming his heart, Hijikata felt nothing except for a burgeoning sense of guilt. So much for full honesty, not when Hijikata didn’t want to burden Kondou further with admissions of nightmares and inner struggles ahead of an important operation. There was no need for it. Maybe afterward he would share about everything, but not now.

Because there had been more to a sleepless night than simply tossing and turning about in his futon. The tang of blood had been sharp in his nostrils, and it had continued for hours on end until Hijikata had grimly accepted its presence. He had gotten up to search around his room and outside, had walked around the yard and along the veranda, but had found no evidence of blood. Peeking in on the medical room revealed only a clean and spotless facility, not men suffering from battle wounds. He thought the blood scent might be riding in on the wind from beyond the complex walls, and he had thought to send some of the night guard on an investigation. But the call and dispatch center hadn’t reported any close crime scenes, either. 

Finding nothing amiss, Hijikata had returned to his quarters where the blood smelled stronger and harsher.

Struggling with the idea that he was caught within the last vestiges of a nightmare, straddling the line between dreams and reality, Hijikata had no choice but to return to his futon and attempt to sleep while breathing in the blood scent until he grew accustomed to it. As a warrior, he was no stranger to blood and battles, but to have the smell of blood permeate all his senses within a place of safety and comfort, surrounded by trusted comrades? It was unsettling. He even thought his nose might be perpetually bleeding throughout the night, but it hadn’t bled at all. 

Was it real? Was it all in his head? With no answers to unnerving questions, Hijikata could not bring himself to tell Kondou the full truth at the risk of appearing unstable in both body and mind. Hijikata didn’t want anyone’s trust in his capabilities and his sanity shaken.

* * *

In the early afternoon, after a morning discussion on Operation Matchstick and a quick light lunch, Hijikata took on his patrol shift alone. There was a place he wanted to visit, and it was better if he did so unencumbered by comrades and unwanted questions.

He walked for nearly an hour, body moving on its own accord, feet knowing exactly where to lead the rest of him. It was a path he had taken so many years ago, that even with the change in neighborhoods, streets, and buildings, Hijikata knew that if he closed his eyes, he would still know where to go and how to find that one place. They had watched and shadowed their enemies for days before that final night.

Soon, Hijikata came to a stop and stood in front of a familiar building, puffing on his cigarette and gazing at the former Golden Maple Inn.

Two floors high and five rooms wide. He remembered that much. Once, it had been full of welcoming light, beckoning travelers inside, promising rest and relaxation. A few flowers had been planted in small rock gardens beneath the windows, and a pathway of single, smooth-topped stones led the traveler into the entranceway, guarded by two lanterns that glowed orange in the night. Above the entrance, there had been a broad sign of black ink calligraphy, _Golden Maple Inn_ , with a small silhouette of a maple tree painted at the end. 

Now, the old structure had new and old wood blending together, recently painted white, sheltered by a pale green rooftop with modern trimming. A straight, flat sidewalk led the way to a couple of shops with signs in the windows, calling forth customers for sales and sights they would not find in the main marketplace. Stonemasonry fortified the foundation, and the whole area had an atmosphere of modernity edging out tradition. Hijikata had heard about parts being torn down and built back up to escape deterioration, prevent the building from becoming an eyesore in a neighborhood growing in population.

The building now housed two shops on the bottom floor, one for trinkets and antiques and the other for secondhand books. A quick inquiry to both shopkeepers revealed that the second floor contained the bookseller’s apartment while another room contained storage space for the other shop. The rest of the floor was vacant of inhabitants with some antiquated, discarded furniture and broken changing screens. The building had gone through two owners, each trying to make something of the space available, but ultimately losing to the bloody history imprinted on the former inn. 

“What happened to the tree?” Hijikata had asked of the bookkeeper, for she’d been in business here the longest at four years. 

The older woman glanced at him over the top of her eyeglasses, “They cut it down. Built a paved street, as you can see.”

Outside, Hijikata stood in the place where he remembered the great tree towering over an unpaved walkway, a small carpet of leaves encircling the base, fallen from a crown of greens and golds that transformed into vibrant oranges and reds in autumn. It hadn’t been the only tree in the area, but it had been the grandest, standing alone, set apart from the rest by its beauty and age. Drawing on that old maple for inspiration, the former inn had prided itself on being built away from the bustling hub of commerce in the main section of the town. Nestled within walking distance to the river, the peace and quiet to be found in this area, as it once was, had been an ideal place for rest. Hijikata had visited this place before while familiarizing himself with the city in the beginning; when he had come to Edo a young mad whose hands were yet unsmeared with so much blood, more than he had ever known in his young life. 

After that night, he had not come by here again until today.

From this point, Hijikata could look up and imagine that he saw the treetop extending beyond the second floor, reaching into the night sky. Instead, he gazed into an open overcast sky rising above the rooftops, a view unimpeded by foliage. All the windows appeared dull and lifeless in the grey light, the glass marred by dust and soot like cloud cover, making it difficult to see inside. Hijikata stared at a faint, roundish silhouette on the last window above the trinket shop, wondering if an old and tattered mannequin had been pushed up against the window.

It took him a moment to realize he was staring at a pale human face with unblinking dark eyes boring back into him.

Rooted to the spot in place of the maple tree, Hijikata swallowed hard, his blood now ice in his veins.

Then the face drew back, vanishing completely from view.

Hijikata bolted for the trinket shop.

Maybe it was a spectre from that night of death, returning now to haunt him in the days leading up to the anniversary of that incident. Maybe it was one of the porcelain shop thieves or a culprit for another crime, hiding from the authorities. 

Whether it was dead or living or something in between, Hijikata needed to know, or this would enter his nightmares as well.

The trinket shopkeeper was in the middle of sweeping outside his front doors. When Hijikata’s pounding footsteps bared down on him, the shopkeeper clutched his broom close to his chest, confusion littered across his face. 

“Who’s up there?” Hijikata demanded, sparing a few seconds to stop and wait for an answer.

“What do you mean? Upstairs?” The shopkeeper shook his head. “Nobody. There’s no one up there right now.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” Hijikata dashed into the shop, his feet knowing exactly where to go – down the hall toward the back, to the right where a staircase beckoned, the memories flooding back.

“Wait, officer! That’s for staff only!”

Ignoring the man’s protests, Hijikata climbed the stairs two at a time with far more noise than he had made years ago. The stairs creaked now, slowly succumbing to age. At the top, he barreled straight for the door leading into the room where he had seen the face.

Slamming it open and throwing himself inside, Hijikata almost tripped over a weatherworn granite lantern. He quickly glanced all around the room for any sign of a presence. All he found were floor length mirrors, old lamps and vases, garden decorations, and various furniture antiques. Masks hung on one wall, and a rack of vintage clothing lined another wall. Statuettes and old sword handguards filled a table. This must be where the shopkeeper stored the truly priceless items that customers would bargain their savings for. 

But the room contained neither human nor ghost. 

No mannequin leaned against the window. There were no other doors leading out, but Hijikata had delayed in reaching the second floor. He hurried out and down the hall to the next two rooms available. One was a bathroom, and the other full of boxes and trunks and cabinets, some taped or locked up, and some open, revealing newspapers and books and art prints and wood blocks. No one and nothing was in either room. 

The aging shopkeeper reached the top of the stairs, breathless. “Officer, please! What is going on?”

“Did anyone pass you on the way down?”

“No, no one—”

“Where is he?” Hijikata demanded roughly, “Where are you hiding him?”

“Hiding _who?_ ” 

Hijikata returned to the first room and started moving things around, checking the mirrors for fingerprints, searching the floors for scuff marks. In the process, he knocked over a granite statue and bumped one of the tables, knocking over a vase that shattered into large pieces.

“Please stop!” the shopkeeper begged, “These are valuable, precious items!”

Hijikata’s entire search for physical evidence amounted to nothing, which left him with the other conclusion lurking in his mind, praying it wasn’t true. Placing a palm flat against the wall between two mirrors, Hijikata wondered if it was possible to see ectoplasm stains with the naked eye. The rational part of him would be skeptical about such a thing, but there no was denying his innate fear of ghosts. Glancing between the mirrors, which reflected back only the shopkeeper and his wares, Hijikata counted to ten, wondering, _daring_ to hope that he might to spot spectral evidence of a ghostly culprit.

But nothing happened. 

Exhaling a heavy breath, Hijikata shut his eyes, dread painfully squeezing his heart. Either the shopkeeper was lying…or he wasn’t. Hijikata didn’t know what to believe, because both possibilities meant that someone remembered that night and his part in it, and they wanted him to know that.

“Are you quite finished now?”

Opening his eyes to look at the floorboards, Hijikata sighed and turned around for the inevitable complaint from a civilian well within his rights to be upset. Hijikata opened his mouth, searching for an explanation, but, like his search, found nothing plausible to say.

The shopkeeper, frowning and still holding onto his broomstick, said, “What makes you think you can just barge in and disrupt my shop? Do you even have a search warrant?”

Hijikata could already imagine Kondou receiving word about this incident, the shame cutting him like a knife. “No…I don’t.”

“You police think you can do anything!”

Hijikata winced at the sudden ferocity in the shopkeeper’s tone, feeling very much like a child receiving a scolding. 

_“Shinsengumi,”_ the man said with another scowl, scrutinizing him from head to toe, “My nephew died at your group’s hands years ago, and he wasn’t a samurai or a soldier. He was a farmer – an innocent man trying to make a living for his family. A man whose views just happened to coincide with the Jouishishi. Do you know his name?”

At any other time, Hijikata might have warned the shopkeeper to hold his tongue, but now, he could only stare back, silent and remorseful. Overstepping his boundaries or losing his temper might worsen a delicate situation. 

“Of course, you don’t and I wouldn’t tell you, either,” the shopkeeper replied coldly, “Your enemies are all the same to you. One of you Shinsengumi cut him down without a single thought for his family, believing he was sheltering patriots. You never gave him a chance to explain or defend himself. All he did was sell some rice to a group of men on the edge of starvation!”

The revelation of a victim hailing from a similar background as himself pushed the knife in deeper.

“You Shinsengumi may be heroes to others, but you are all _murderers_ to me,” the shopkeeper snapped, “Wolves. Demons!”

_Demon!_

The voice from another time resonated as loudly in Hijikata’s ears as the screams had done, and he no longer saw the shopkeeper before him. In his place instead was a man bound in rope, face contorted in agony, mouth agape in a silent scream.

* * *

“I want you to take a few days off.”

In the privacy of Hijikata’s quarters during late evening, Kondou sat cross-armed on the other side of the small table between them with the incident report from earlier that afternoon. A cigarette hung off the corner of Hijikata’s mouth, thin wisps of smoke rising into the air, and he felt once more like an errant youth sitting inside Kondou’s dojo for the first time, waiting for the inevitable lecture. Hijikata was out of uniform and quite possibly out of his mind, too, for the incident report stated that no physical evidence had been found of any intruder other than himself.

Hijikata stared at that report on the tabletop, not quite ready to meet Kondou’s eyes. Being told to rest in the period leading up to Operation Matchstick was not what Hijikata wanted to hear, as the guilt from disappointing Kondou weighed heavily on his shoulders. 

“You need to clear your mind,” Kondou continued, “and rest your body.”

“What I need to do,” Hijikata finally spoke up, voice low and rough-edged, “is finish preparations for the mission. I’ll hold off on patrol duty just to focus on that.”

“Actually, I’m considering removing you from the mission altogether.”

Hijikata raised his head, meeting Kondou’s solemn eyes with a furrowed brow. “What? Why?”

“If today is any indication, then having you lead a team to find a group of insurgents known for using explosives against their enemies…” Kondou sighed, uncrossing his arms and resting them on his lap. “I have to be honest, Toushi. Matchstick needs a steady hand…and a steady mind.”

Doing his best to quell indignation over this unforeseen decision, Hijikata swallowed hard and said, “That’s ridiculous. I’m completely fine. So, I knocked a few things over – it happens during a raid.”

“Is what you were doing? Raiding the place?”

“I was _pursuing_ a possible suspect in hiding,” Hijikata replied evenly, “I saw someone up there. I had to look fast.”

“But the rooms were empty.”

“Because the suspect escaped.” This had been Hijikata’s mantra since the afternoon in an attempt to rationalize those empty rooms.

“The shopkeeper saw no one leave—or go _in_ for that matter.”

“There’s more than one way to get in and out of that building, as you might recall.”

“Yes, but nobody witnessed a suspect fleeing the scene. We searched the entire building and the vicinity. There was no evidence that anyone had been there other than you and the shopkeeper.”

“There was someone there,” Hijikata insisted, narrowing his eyes. “Why won’t you believe me? Kondou-san…do you think I’m lying?”

Kondou studied him for a long time in silence, which was enough of an answer in itself. Hijikata looked away, growing uncomfortable again at the thought of becoming too transparent and that Kondou’s trust in him might be wavering. That was one of the last things Hijikata ever wanted to happen in his life. 

“Never mind,” Hijikata spoke first, taking his cigarette out and crushing it in the ash tray. “There’s no point in discussing this one-sidedly. I take full responsibility for my rash actions and I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to believe you, Toushi.” Kondou gave him a pleading look. “I know you wouldn’t act without good reason. But I just think…well, it’s almost the anniversary of that—”

“That has _nothing_ to do with it,” Hijikata said, and regretted the harsher tone when he saw the slightest wince from Kondou. “I’ll take tomorrow off if that’s what you want. I’ll even go and apologize to the shopkeeper once more for good measure. But, please, reconsider your decision. Who would lead Matchstick? Sougo? Knowing him, he’ll rush right in without using his head for one second.”

“As you did today?”

Kondou wasn’t mincing words tonight. Hijikata replied, “Today was an error in judgement. A one-time error. You know I’m not normally this reckless.”

“That’s why I’m concerned.” Kondou stared somewhere above Hijikata’s hairline for a moment before closing his eyes in submission. “Very well, then. We’ll discuss more the day after tomorrow. I may rescind my decision. I wish you’d take more than one day off, though, but I suppose I should be glad you’re resting at all.” Like the sun breaking free from storm clouds, Kondou smiled wistfully.

With a lowered head, Hijikata thanked him and promised he’d be in good shape by the time the operation commenced. Fortunately, few among the Shinsengumi were aware of this incident, and those that did know could be trusted to keep it to themselves. If word of the incident spread and the men started to doubt Hijikata’s capabilities, then the whole operation would suffer, not to mention his reputation as a rational, sane man. 

After all, it was bad enough that he alone was starting to doubt himself.

“Tomorrow, I want work to be the furthest thing from your mind. Don’t do anything related to the operation or current investigations. Just rest.” Kondou rose to his feet and made for the door. “It’s late now. You should get some sleep.”

“I will.”

“By the way, how many cigarettes have you had today?” Kondou asked, pausing in the doorway.

Hijikata gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Two…three…I can’t remember.” 

Kondou frowned. “Take it easy, Toushi. Good night.”

After Kondou left, Hijikata took up the incident report and read through it again, reliving the incident in his mind, remembering that face in the window and those dark, dark eyes. He had not imagined it. He couldn’t have. It had moved back from the glass like a physical being; it hadn’t vanished into thin air like a spirit. What reason did a ghost have to take more than a split second to disappear? 

Sighing, Hijikata tossed the papers back on the table and went to stand outside on the veranda. The air was cool, the wind whispering through the trees and the quarter moon rising out of the glowing city skyline. A siren blared in the distance, and Hijikata listened until it faded away.

So, he had been ordered to rest and not chase after the wind, so to speak. Fine, he would do that.

In the meantime, there were other means of placing his ears and eyes around the city to investigate this matter further while still maintaining his promise to take the day off. 

Retreating back within his room and picking up his phone from the table, Hijikata sent a message to Yamazaki, and then lit another cigarette.

* * *

Kondou had told him to rest, but there were no rules about staying put inside the compound. Hijikata didn’t want to spend his day indoors, anyway, not when he had suffered through another nightmare of the same kind: a heated room, candlelit, bloodstained, and that same dreaded scream.

He needed to be outside again where there was life.

Traversing through busy streets mid-morning on his way to the nearest movie theatre, Hijikata’s eyes habitually roved over the people and shops he passed, ever alert to potential danger. Having fought through many battles and placing his life on the front lines, it was difficult to fully relax and pretend he was a normal citizen on a morning stroll. He had long accepted that his life would always be like this in some way. It was a path he had chosen and expected to walk until his final day. Being sensitive to danger and ill intent had become as natural as breathing.

When he finally reached the movie theater, Hijikata paused in front to look at the posters, and he almost didn’t hear his name being called out.

“Hijikata-san, hello.” It was Shimura Tae, dressed in her familiar pink kimono along with a purse hanging from one arm and a shopping bag in the other. Beside her was the tall leader of Yoshiwara’s Hyakka, Tsukuyo, who nodded in greeting, her pipe in hand. “It’s been a while since we’ve crossed paths.”

Unprepared for conversation with people he actually knew, Hijikata forced an amiable expression onto his face, hoping they couldn’t tell or sense how disturbed and distant his mind was from this very moment. “Yes, it has been.” 

“Are you on your way to some place?”

“Not really.” 

“Tsukuyo-san and I were just on our way to my dojo. Would you care to join us for tea?” Tae asked, smiling at him. “You look like you could use a good cup.”

Hijikata glanced at the marquee, which listed the titles of the two films being shown at this theatre. The posters by the door depicted an animated children’s comedy featuring an anthropomorphic rabbit and fox, and a blood-splattered horror film about a vengeful ghost. Not exactly what he had hoped to occupy his attention with for a couple of hours. 

Tea with two district leaders, who might be privy to important information for his investigation, was the better choice. Tae utilized a growing network of informants for the safety of Kabukichou, and Tsukuyo had extensive knowledge of the underworld and nightlife through her Yoshiwara patrols and connections. Perhaps they might have come across or heard of a man with a _shi_ -shaped scar on his neck – a real person, because Hijikata didn’t want to believe in the other option, or else he would never sleep again. He had started to wonder if an impersonator with knowledge of that night was intent on harassing him for cruel amusement or revenge. 

And so, Hijikata agreed to join the two women.

The journey to the Koudoukan Dojo was a quiet one for him, as he listened to Tae and Tsukuyo chat about everyday pleasantries. He followed at a distance of three feet behind, still observing the people around them, as they entered familiar streets he had walked many times in an attempt to find and bring Kondou back to headquarters. Entering the dojo as a guest instead of an officer this time around felt strange but not unwelcome. The strangeness, the deviation from his routine, and the company of people he didn’t frequent was just the sort of thing he needed right now, even if he did have an ulterior motive.

Seated around the table in the common area, Tae asked them both if there was any in particular they wanted to snack on alongside their tea other than the cakes she’d bought this morning.

“I don’t care for sweets,” Hijikata replied, “I will, however, have mayonnaise.” He reached within his sleeve, but then realized he’d forgotten to bring his own. Normally, he did when going to the theatre, because they didn’t offer mayonnaise as a popcorn topping. But he must’ve been too tired this morning to remember taking a bottle along. “Damn it…”

Tsukuyo eyed him strangely, but said nothing, choosing instead to sip from her tea. 

“Lucky for you, I just happened to pick up a small bottle during my last trip to the market,” Tae said, smiling, “For some odd reason, I’ve had a craving for it.”

“It’s a sign of your palate improving,” Hijikata remarked, and stifled a smile of his own, amused at the sudden vein twitching in her temple before she left the room.

“Do all Shinsengumi have peculiar tastes as you do?” Tsukuyo asked, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Believe it or not, this is the least peculiar thing about us,” Hijikata answered, “although others will disagree.”

Once they were all settled around the table with a platter of snacks and a small bottle of mayonnaise, which Hijikata was grateful to see, Tae said, “Having the Shinsensumi’s Vice-Chief join us for tea is such a rare occasion. I’m used to seeing you during the night rather than the day. Thank you for joining us, Hijikata-san.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hijikata replied, after sipping from his tea, “I came here because I need your help.”

At once, both women turned serious, listening as he named and described the man he had seen and the telltale scar that would pinpoint the man as a suspect in the crime he was currently investigating. Hijikata shared no further details on that, preferring that they didn’t know his investigation was not sanctioned by Kondou or anyone else within the Shinsengumi. Once more, guilt coursed through him, but he ignored it for now. 

“I’m not at liberty to say much,” Hijikata said, “but I will emphasize that it’s crucial that this man is caught. If left to his own devices, he may soon endanger people of your districts, as well. He has a history of arson and murder.” Hijikata tried not to think about how he’d just asked Tae and Tsukuyo to keep an eye out for a dead man, but if someone was out there impersonating that man, then that person needed to be apprehended. There was a connection to all of this, he reasoned. There had to be, for it was the only way to convince himself that he was not hallucinating, that the nightmares were not creeping into reality. Once he found the proof, then Kondou would believe, as well.

“How did you come to know of this man?” Tsukuyo asked.

Hijikata hesitated before replying, “He was once part of the Jouishishi, so we were enemies by default. But his faction were extremists, following more in the way of the Kiheitai. They stopped at nothing to achieve their goals, even if it meant civilian death, which they viewed as a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.” He paused, and then added, “Regardless of political views, it’s my job now to stop anyone who would cause more destruction and death in this city.” Katsura Kotarou’s face flashed in his mind as one who had different visions of the country’s future, but likewise worked in his own way to keep the city safe.

Tae nodded in understanding. “And why has he been so hard to capture?”

The impersonator, Hijikata reminded himself, and went on to answer, “He has many connections that have allowed him to break out of prison and stay well hidden.” The man had eluded capture once before that night, and his impersonator was clearly doing the same. 

The three of them sat in contemplative silence for a few moments with only the sound of a tea cup touching the table’s surface.

“There are many who still come to Yoshiwara, hiding away in the shadows that remain, hoping to escape justice – and wishing we were still under Housen’s rule. Even now, we still fight against remnants of his regime,” Tsukuyo said, her violet eyes full of grim familiarity with his situation, “I won’t discount the possibility that this man could be hiding in Yoshiwara. I’ll have my Hyakka keep an eye out for him.”

“We’ll do likewise in Kabukichou,” Tae added with a nod.

“Thank you both,” Hijikata said, “If you do find him, contact me right away, and don’t try to apprehend him yourselves. You don’t need to step in further than this. Realistically, I shouldn’t be asking you two at all, but I’m…” On the verge of desperation? Madness? He had yet to settle on a solid answer for the thousands of questions and fears haunting his daily thoughts along with a perpetual image of Kondou shaking his head in disappointment. Sighing, Hijikata said, “Just contact me first before you attempt anything. I want to be the one to personally haul him in.” To reach out and touch that birthmark and confirm that it was or wasn’t there, and that the impersonator was a real, live human being.

And to know that others could see him, too.

Hijikata excused himself out to the veranda for a smoke break, which then turned into a stroll through the back yard, walking far enough that the women’s casual conversation grew faint amid the warbling of an bird perched somewhere within the trees. The Shimuras had fixed up the area quite nicely with a pond and granite decorations placed strategically along the pathway and shrubbery. He wandered along the wall toward the tallest tree, which reminded him of the grand maple and the inn and yesterday’s events altogether. He thought again of that face in the window and the skepticism in Kondou’s voice. 

Sighing and lowering his cigarette, Hijikata stared at the canopy of leaves for awhile longer, and then turned around to head back to the common area when a sharp tang of blood set him on edge. The scent was sudden and close, and it raised all the hairs on his neck. He spun around back toward the tree and forgot to breathe. 

Smoke plumed skyward from the tree’s crown, which was engulfed in flames. Heat radiated outward, warming his chilled skin and drawing out droplets of sweat from his pores. His heart hammered against his chest, as his eyes fixed upon a much stranger sight.

Something slow and thick oozed down the trunk, gleamed in the firelight like sweat on skin, and he knew in his heart that it was melting candle wax and that it should be impossible because he was hallucinating. Trees did not bleed bone white wax.

But he couldn’t look away, not even when the wax morphed into a thinner liquid at the base, the source of the blood scent. Hijikata watched the pool of crimson flow across the ground toward him, watched the red soak into his white sandaled feet and spread fast—

“Hijikata-san!”

Tae’s panicked voice wrenched him away from the horrifying vision, and he glanced toward the dojo. She was dashing across the yard toward him, Tsukuyo on her heels. 

Hijikata looked back at the tree and found it unscathed, but the smell of smoke was very much real. He glanced down and saw that he had dropped his lighted cigarette down onto the grass where it steadily burned through blades to soil, flickering embers beneath a rising cloud of smoke. On instinct, he moved to stamp it out, reality swooping back into his senses. He heard the flutter of a bird’s wings in escape and felt the slip of a cool breeze on his nape. 

Upon reaching him, Tae waved away the last wisps of smoke with her sleeve and inspected the ground. “What happened? I had an ashtray set out for you and—” She stopped when they locked gazes, and her eyes widened slightly. “Hijikata-san? Are you all right?”

Hijikata remembered the blood and realized that he no longer knew the answer to that question. He could only stare at her, his mouth agape in silence. 

Tsukuyo remained quiet, but he could feel her penetrating gaze on him, reminiscent of the way Sougo now looked at him whenever their paths crossed. 

Hijikata swallowed hard and managed a weak apology, averting his eyes from them, back toward the tree. “I wasn’t thinking…I’m sorry.”

It didn’t take him long to leave after that. 

Tae accompanied him to the dojo’s entranceway, the two of them leaving Tsukuyo behind to ruminate on the patch of burnt grass. Glancing back, Hijikata saw Tsukuyo lift her head and gaze in the general direction of the tree, a frown on her face. For a second, he thought she might be seeing what he had, but then dismissed the idea as impossible. But he still found himself hoping, yearning for just one other person to tell him that he wasn’t hallucinating.

Before walking off, Hijikata turned to Tae and said, “Again, I’m sorry about that. That was irresponsible and reckless of me.” Shame and embarrassment flooded his veins to the point where he wanted to bang his head against a cement wall over and over until he bled it all out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tae said, offering a smile, “It’s just a little lost grass. Nothing worse came of it.”

It was more than the grass and the danger a small fire could’ve grown into, but he didn’t press the issue further. Judging by the expression in her eyes beyond her smile, Tae perceived more than she let on; she reminded him of Kondou in that way.

“We’ll keep watch for that man,” Tae continued, “but in the meantime…maybe you should get some rest? I know, that’s probably the last thing you want to do, but it’s important that you take care of yourself, too, Hijikata-san.” She said nothing more than that, for which he was grateful. 

Nodding, Hijikata said, “I know. I will – when this is all over.”

When he managed to separate illusion from reality, then he would allow himself to rest and sleep like he was dead.

* * *

“Vice-Chief?”

Unaware that he had been staring into nothingness, Hijikata blinked several times, frowning, and then he looked at Tetsunosuke. “What?”

Tetsunosuke gestured a hand toward a middle-aged man standing next to him. “Yamashiro-san was just asking if he could take us to the well and show us what he’d found?”

Trying not to appear incompetent, Hijikata straightened up and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Operation Matchstick was a handful of days away. Between that and the nightmares and the constant questioning of his sanity, Hijikata could hardly think straight. Twice he had to ask Tetsunosuke for the name of the man who had called in about strange sounds and sights in his neighbourhood. Given the fact that this area wasn’t too far from where the two porcelain thieves had been last spotted by witnesses, Hijikata was obliged to follow up on this investigation, though his mind was far from it. 

This neighbourhood was also about five blocks away from the former Golden Maple Inn, if they followed the street and curved left toward the river. Even now, as they followed after Yamashiro, Hijikata couldn’t help glancing northward down the street, remembering this exact route in which he had led his comrades down to raid the inn.

Hijikata shook his head clear of unwanted memories and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He had messed up enough times in the last couple of days. He hadn’t told Kondou about his hallucination at the Koudoukan Dojo, wasn’t sure if he would, but either way, he wouldn’t let Kondou down by failing to succeed properly in his investigations again. Ghost or no ghost, impersonator or none, Hijikata would do his job. He had to. He _needed_ to. 

Yamashiro, a labourer who lived nearby in an apartment with his wife and daughter, led them around the back of the apartment complex and down a back alley between the apartments and a two-storey building that housed an abandoned textile factory and a tea shop. “This place used to be busy,” Yamashiro explained, as he pointed out the building’s weather-ridden wood and faded signs and piled water-stained crates. “But we’re becoming more of a residential area now, as new businesses move to newer districts.”

“Oh, yes, this district is very old. It used to be the centre of commerce not that long ago, a decade at least,” Tetsunosuke said, demonstrating the results of his time in the archives at Headquarters. “Factories, markets, inns – you name it. Since the War, the city has changed a lot.”

“I rather like the quietness out here,” Yamashiro said, “It’s a good place to raise children – or it was, anyway.”

Lingering behind by a few footsteps, Hijikata wished they would both stop talking, so that his head might stand a chance of overcoming a dull ache that just wouldn’t leave him be. The lack of sleep and the stress of wondering what was real and what wasn’t – it was slowly but surely catching up to him. Rubbing his right temple, Hijikata reached within his jacket and retrieved his carton of cigarettes. Peering inside, he saw that there were about thirteen sticks left. Remembering that Kondou had asked him to cut back, Hijikata put the carton away and took out his mayonnaise instead. He had skipped breakfast that morning, after all. Squeezing a bit of mayonnaise into his mouth, Hijikata gulped down the sweet taste, grateful that he hadn’t forgotten to bring it this time. Others would say he needed healthier snacks, but sometimes only a comfort food could do the trick. 

“This here used to be a community well,” Yamashiro said, as they emerged into a sandy lot, sandwiched in between the building and a complex of tightly clustered homes. In the center was an old well with its outer structure still partially intact. 

Yamashiro pointed westward to a small patch of shrubbery and a wooden fence separating the lot from newer buildings. Weeds had sprouted up along the fence line, a plastic bag caught up within them. “Beyond this, there used to be a small wooded area, but, as you can see, it’s since been cleared. Go further, and you’ll meet the river. But the water never came from that. The groundwater used to run clear and strong, but it eventually dried out. No one’s used it since.”

“You know quite a bit of local history,” Tetsunosuke remarked, smiling. 

Yamashiro smiled back, the sides of his eyes creasing together. “I lived here all my life, as did my father and grandfather.”

Hijikata stared numbly at the old well in front of him. The stonework was crumbling around the base, and the wooden structure that had once housed those fetching fresh water was in a similar state of deterioration, leaning at an odd angle, patches of blue sky visible in the holes where the wood had rotted away. The opening of the well had been boarded up presumably for safety reasons. 

“My apartment faces this lot. No one usually hangs around here except those looking for trouble, I suspect.” He pointed again to the abandoned factory building, where some of the windows were no longer intact, some boarded up and others with fractured dusty glass still in place. “Some of us have tried to block the openings to prevent people from walking in and making off with things that don’t belong to them, even though all the machinery is gone now. You can see how this area can’t be seen from the streets.” Yamashiro looked at both of them in turn. “We haven’t noticed anyone during the day, but we have heard noises at night for the past week.”

“Uh, can you describe these noises?” Tetsunosuke asked, after sparing a quick glance at Hijikata, who continued to listen in silence, preferring to let Tetsunosuke lead the inquiry. “And anything else you may have noticed?”

“Mind you, they’re not terribly loud noises,” Yamashiro replied, “But when you’re trying to sleep in the middle of the night…sometimes I can hear a scraping. Like rock against rock. Like someone or something’s trying to climb up this well. Like a human, or, you know…” He looked at Hijikata. “Like a spirit.”

A shiver ran down Hijikata’s spine, and suddenly he didn’t want to be here anymore. There was also a tinge of anger somewhere within, feeling as though he was being mocked for his own struggles with discerning between the living and the dead and those in between. 

“I’m not saying I don’t believe or anything,” Yamashiro went on, “but if it was a ghost, would it make a sound? There are no tales of vengeful ghosts or lost lives around this well. It’s as ordinary as can be. So that’s why I’m thinking that maybe someone is hiding out here. Maybe down in the well.” He moved toward the crumbled, scattered stones and nudged at an object with his foot. “This wasn’t here yesterday.”

Hijikata stepped closer and knelt down to inspect what was a piece of torn rope, hardened with dried mud and fraying at both ends. “When did you notice it? In the morning?” he asked, picking up the rope for closer inspection. There were no signs of blood on it.

“Early this morning, very early.” Yamashiro crossed his arms with a frown. “When I heard the noises again, I got up to look. I thought I saw someone moving about, but it was still too dark to tell. Too many shadows.”

Silence fell over the lot, and in the distance, Hijikata could hear the sound of children’s laughter and a voice calling out for someone to hurry up.

“Us locals, we’re concerned, you see,” Yamashiro said, “Our children don’t play back here because of the well, which we boarded up, but it’s nothing for an adult to break it and hide down inside for whatever reason. There was a recent robbery, wasn’t there? You didn’t catch those thieves yet? Sure wouldn’t want them loose around here with our children playing at the park or walking to school.”

“We’re close to apprehending them,” Tetsunosuke replied.

“If it was a ghost, though,” Yamashiro continued, as if he hadn’t heard Tetsunosuke, “then I think it would be the ghost of a samurai.”

“What makes you say that?” Tetsunosuke asked.

“Years ago, there used to be an inn not too far from here.” Yamashiro pointed northward. “They called it the Golden Maple Inn.”

Hijikata stared at the rope in his hand, blood running cold.

“Well, you probably know more about it than I do – it involved your people, didn’t it?” Yamashiro said, “There was a clash between samurai of opposing factions. A bloody one.”

The rope seemed to double itself on him, and Hijikata squeezed his eyes shut, feeling lightheaded.

“A lot of men died that night,” Yamashiro went on, voice growing low, “Wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them still hung around here, unable to rest. There’s a story about it that goes around. The survivors say they were visited by a—”

Hijikata cut in shortly, “Thank you for your time. Tetsu, finish up with Yamashiro-san here, and then go and ask the locals for more details. I’m going to take a look around.”

Ignoring their bewildered expressions, Hijikata left the two men to their discussion and went around the other side of the well, still clutching the rope. A brief scan around the area produced no further evidence lying around, like an extra set of footprints. Nothing else looked out of place. There hadn’t been reports of recent break-ins activity from this area, either. Maybe all Yamashiro had seen was a trick of the light during a time where it was neither day nor night. His experience was the first report of suspicious activity for this neighbourhood. As for the rope, it could be a remnant leftover from the well’s peak, discarded among the stones. Yamashiro might have missed completely over his years of living here, especially if no one bothered to hang around in the back. Hijikata didn’t think it was strong evidence of anything at all.

Tossing the rope to the ground, Hijikata’s resolve broke and he reached within his jacket for a cigarette and his lighter, and then silently cursed Yamashiro for stirring up old memories. Exhaling smoke in relief, Hijikata glanced around the area, sharp gaze sweeping across the windows of the factory building, wondering if someone was hiding within, watching them. He braced himself for another encounter with a face, but saw none, to his great relief.

Returning to the well, Hijikata nudged at the wood planked across the opening with his boot, finding that two of them were loose. Frowning and thinking that maybe there was some truth to Yamashiro’s story after all, Hijikata slipped his cigarette between his lips and used both hands to remove the loose planks, dropping them off to the side. He stared down into the mouth of the well, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing into the deep darkness of its throat. He heard nothing, saw nothing, _sensed_ nothing. No scratch or scuff marks along the sides, either. It was just an old, abandoned well.

Hijikata leaned back and looked away, but a flash of white caught his eye. He quickly glanced back down into the well.

And met with a pair of gnarled, whitened hands reaching out for him.

Cigarette dropping from his mouth, Hijikata cried out, stumbled backward, and tripped over the strewn stones. Plummeting to the ground, he forgot to tuck his chin inward, too shocked by what he’d just seen, and his head smacked against a stone. Pain exploded in the back of his head, spread fast and hot. Gasping, feeling the rest of his body catch up in sharp pangs throughout his back and shoulders, Hijikata pushed himself upright on his elbows, and then reached behind his head, fingers touching a fresh, open wound with something warm and wet. Tetsunosuke and Yamashiro’s voices rang out, but Hijikata didn’t register their words, as he looked back toward the well.

Peering over the top was a head and a pair of black eyes framed by black hair matted with dried blood against pale skin. Those bottomless eyes were fixed upon him, wide and bulging, as the rest of the emaciated face rose into view, revealing a large gaping mouth and a bloodied neck with shreds of skin hanging loose, no visible body following after the head.

But the worst part was the _shi_ mark severed in half.

Hijikata lost his breath for a moment, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. When he found he could breathe again, he thought he heard a terrified scream, but couldn’t tell if it was from the dream or from his own lungs. 


	3. Unravel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting – if you’re still here. This was an intense chapter to write, so I took time and care in finishing it, especially since I haven’t written anything dark for Gintama since my Takasugi fic (though I do write angst often). My updates with multi-chapter stories tend to be slow if I haven't already completed them prior to posting. This is due to other things in life taking priority. But if you're invested in the story and are willing to wait, I always seek to deliver quality work in return for your patience, which I'm grateful for.
> 
> Mood song inspiration:  
> • “Les mémoires blessées"- Dark Sanctuary  
> • “Rush Minute (Instrumental)” – Massive Attack; this song sans the lyrics makes for an altered mood. Other dark and moody Massive Attack songs also helped me finish the chapter.
> 
> Special shout-out to Ace for their feedback regarding one scene in this chapter. Thank you so much!

The sound of his own ragged breathing jolted Hijikata out of the nightmare, forced him upright in an instant before he could open his eyes. Then, his head flooded with throbbing pain. Groaning, Hijikata grabbed his head, threaded his fingers into his hair and scrunched it up, focusing on the pounding inside his skull, willing it to stop, praying it would cease. His thumbs entangled into something that was firmly wound around his head.

“Easy now,” said a familiar, worried voice somewhere from the side, followed by a rush of footsteps, bringing the voice closer in proximity. “Take it easy, Vice-Chief.”

Hijikata opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness of the room, wincing as more pain shot through his head. With a sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth, Hijikata pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his vision rapidly filling with spots yet finding refuge in darkness until all his senses caught up with him. “Where am I?” he demanded, “What’s happened?” 

“You’re in O-Edo General Hospital,” replied the voice he now recognized as belonging to Tetsunosuke, “You’ve been treated for a small head wound and a minor concussion.” 

Cautiously, Hijikata ventured a peek at his surroundings. Just as Tetsunosuke had said, Hijikata was inside a hospital room, seated on a bed with an empty one next to him, the curtain half drawn closed. The windows patterned in square panes revealed the afternoon sunlight above the Edo skyline. Hanging from the ceiling were fluorescent lights humming with energy along with a whiff of disinfectant permeating the air. There was a chair next to the bed, close to the mobile ventilator unit among other medical machinery tacked to the wall. Hijikata’s uniform jacket was draped over the chair along with his cravat. 

“How do you feel, sir?”

“Like Sougo ran over my head with a patrol car,” Hijikata replied, “Twice.”

Tetsunosuke gave a slight chuckle, and then went over to the hospital tray where he poured water from a pitcher into a paper cup. “If you can, try drinking some water. When you’ve had a concussion, it’s important to stay hydrated.”

Hijikata took the offered cup and gulped it all down, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat.

“Not so fast, sir!” Tetsunosuke hovered nearby, taking the empty cup away when Hijikata had finished.

His bed was set at an incline. Hijikata leaned back against it, shoulders loosening with a sigh. “How long have I been out?” 

“A couple of hours, but you drifted in and out of consciousness.” Tetsunosuke’s large, brown eyes were troubled. “You seemed somewhat aware of what was going on…but then again, I’m not so sure.” He sat down in the chair and set his hands on his knees. “The doctor said your memories might be out of order, but they should all return.”

Hijikata racked his brain for recollection of the events before passing out, and he reached back to touch the padded area of his wound, grimacing over its tenderness. “How did I get this?”

“You fell and hit your head on a rather jagged stone.”

“Where?”

“At the old well,” Tetsunosuke replied, “when we were with Yamashiro-san. Do you remember him? We were investigating a possible lead on those porcelain thieves.” 

A well, a man named Yamashiro, and porcelain – all vaguely familiar, and the more Hijikata dwelled on them, the more his jumbled mess of memories pieced themselves together: Yamashiro had led them through a back alley into a vacant lot with an abandoned well surrounded by crumbling stones from its foundation. But how had he fallen? He remembered inspecting the well and peering inside its passageway, inhaling a damp, earthen scent, staring into the blackness—

The hands. 

Those contorted, bone white hands, marred by scarring and blistering.

That disembodied head with peels of bloodied skin dangling from its neck.

A mark of _shi._

Hijikata fought back a shiver, as the horrific image burned anew in his mind, and he swallowed hard and looked at Tetsunosuke. “While I was semi-conscious…did I say anything?”

Shifting in his seat with his eyes lowering to the floor, Tetsunosuke cleared his throat awkwardly and answered, “Well, you did say a few incoherent words…and you asked for Chief and…also the name of someone I don’t know.”

“What name?” Hijikata pressed him, dread pooling together in the pit of his stomach and rising upward, and the name Tetsunosuke gave only served to roil his insides. Sagging against the mattress, Hijikata closed his eyes with a deep frown and another weary sigh. 

“Is something wrong? Vice-Chief?”

There was every kind of wrong, but Hijikata hesitated to divulge further details on the matter and the significance of that name. Instead, he looked at Tetsunosuke and asked, in a quiet voice, “Did you…see it?”

Tetsunosuke’s brows knit together in confusion. “See what?”

Again, Hijikata hesitated to respond, worried Tetsunosuke would think he was losing his mind, and then word would get back to Kondou, and then Sougo would find out and use it to his advantage. The Vice-Chief constantly seeing ghosts and spirits, and then falling prey to their ominous presence? The men would never take him seriously again; they would lose their faith in him. He couldn’t budge for an inch of weakness to appear in the Shinsengumi’s fortified walls of strength and unity and order.

He _wouldn’t._

Besides, Tetsunosuke’s answer – and a discouraging one at that – was more than enough for Hijikata to conclude that he had been, once again, the only one to suffer from stress-induced hallucinations or a spectral presence. He didn’t know which possibility was worse.

“I’ve already informed Chief,” Tetsunosuke said, “and the doctors want to run some tests on you—”

Hijikata shook his head and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, throbbing headache be damned. “I can’t stay here when there’s too much to do. I’m getting out of here.”

“But your discharge papers—”

“To _hell_ with the discharge papers!” Hijikata snapped.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and Tetsunosuke stared at him, surprise and a little sorrow flashing in his eyes.

Hijikata instantly regretted his outburst. He had barked orders at Tetsunosuke before, had snapped on his heels to get him going, but this time the intention behind his words was heavily loaded with severity and hostility. He could blame it on the mounting pressure and exhaustion of Operation Matchstick, his nightmares and lack of sleep, and his overall health in general, but he knew it would only sound like an excuse. 

The moment for an apology to his most devoted assistant had passed, pride surpassing his shame and guilt, for he didn’t think a subordinate questioning orders from his superiors in this situation was necessary. “I’m walking out of this hospital right now, with or without them,” Hijikata said tersely, grabbing his jacket and shoving his arms into the sleeves. “Do what you have to do to settle the payment, but otherwise, I’m leaving.”

“Yes, Vice-Chief.”

Hijikata stuffed his cravat inside his half-buttoned shirt collar, forgoing something as trivial as neatness. He had to get out of this building; this place where people with bloody wounds were rushed in and from which corpses were wheeled out.

* * *

When Hijikata returned to the Shinsengumi compound, all hope of making it back into his own room first vanished when the officers on guard saw him and informed him that Kondou would be waiting inside his personal quarters for a private meeting. Tetsunosuke must have called Kondou ahead of time, maybe after Hijikata had left the hospital room, probably out of concern and duty. Kondou required updates on the condition of his comrades, especially if said comrade was a second-in-command.

The dread inside his stomach had become a lump of lead weighing down his steps, as Hijikata forced himself to ignoring the questioning stares from all who passed by him. No one said a word, but he imagined the seedling of doubt was rapidly growing, as he had feared it would. He knew himself to be a wretched sight with his disheveled appearance and bandages and a general exhausted air about him.

By the time Hijikata finally lowered himself into a cross-legged position across from Kondou, who signaled for an officer to close the door, the atmosphere had grown heavier. For a few moments, Hijikata could not bring himself to meet Kondou’s eyes, and the silence between them was uncomfortable and suffocating. 

“We caught the porcelain thieves. Harada is completing the investigation, as we speak,” Kondou said, the tone of his voice neutral and controlled, as though he was addressing a group of reporters instead of his oldest friend. “Tetsu will brief you on the details.”

Hijikata lifted his gaze to meet Kondou’s own, and almost shrank back at the hard stare of the older man. Hijikata had never felt intimidated by Kondou his entire life, but now he understand what it must feel like when others spoke of how awed they were by the presence of Kondou, Hijikata himself, and Sougo, the three cornerstones of the Shinsengumi.

But making his discomfort known wouldn’t do, so Hijikata remained resolute, squaring his shoulders back. “Why have you called me here?” he asked, though he knew the reason and simply wanted Kondou to get on with it, so that Hijikata could retreat to his quarters and rest. It felt like someone was driving a nail through his skull, bit by bit.

“I’m removing you from Operation Matchstick.”

The words echoed dully in his ears. Hijikata had expected something like this, but the reality still caught him by disheartening surprise, adding to the mounting shame churning deep inside of him.

Exhaling heavily, Kondou continued, “Before you say anything, please understand that I didn’t come to this decision lightly. It’s an important mission that I wouldn’t trust just anyone to lead. However, given this past week’s incidents and your current state of health – not to mention just up and leaving the hospital without a doctor giving the okay—”

“I don’t need a doctor or a piece of paper to tell me whether I’m okay or not,” Hijikata cut in, sharper than he intended, “I already know I’m not doing too well, but I’ve been through worse than this. I’ve fought multiple opponents at once and hunted dangerous criminals down while injured _and_ bleeding. I survived. A little bump on the head isn’t going to kill me.” Hijikata leveled Kondou with a hard stare. “Kondou-san, I can handle Matchstick, and you need an experienced leader on the team.”

“It’s not just a bump on the head,” Kondou said, frowning, “You haven’t been sleeping well – you told me so yourself. I rarely see you in the mess hall, and Tetsu tells me you don’t eat much at all. You always seem to be in a fog – once I had to shake your shoulder just to get your attention!” Kondou paused, gesturing toward the paperwork on the nearby tabletop. “There’s also the matter of your driving incident, your impromptu raid of that antique shop, and now…”

Hijikata couldn’t deny anything spoken, but he narrowed his eyes at the last part. “Now what?” 

Kondou drew in a breath, the sternness of his demeanor falling away to a disquieting gaze. “Toushi…Tetsu said you were screaming.”

So that part had not been a fragment of a nightmare. The echo of a scream he now recognized as his own tore through his mind, and his stomach gave a sickening clench. 

“He said he had never heard you scream like that before,” Kondou continued, “No matter what he said or did to try and calm you…nothing worked. You kept yelling until you blacked out.”

Hijikata looked down and away, unable to work his tongue into an explanation to save face. There was no way around this, and it pained Hijikata to realize that he was already, instinctively, searching for a way to wrap the terrible truth inside a protective lie. But everyone knew Tetsunosuke didn’t and _wouldn’t_ lie about something that would damage Hijikata’s fearsome reputation.

Lying – and lying to Kondou, for that matter – was growing too easy. 

“Toushi, what happened?”

Maybe it was time to come clean.

“I…I saw…” Hijikata cursed under his breath and raked a hand through his hair before bringing it back to his face, fingertips pressing into his forehead, amplifying the pain punctuating every respite he had from the concussion. Staring at Kondou between his fingers, Hijikata said, “You’re going to think me insane for this, but I _saw…him.”_

Kondou frowned. “Who?”

It took Hijikata a moment to give the name, watching as Kondou’s face paled in response.

“I’ve been seeing him everywhere,” Hijikata went on, hands dropping to his lap, shoulders sagging in defeat and also relief at being able to unload this burden. “In my nightmares, on the streets, in the windows, and, yes, even in the wells.”

“But he’s—”

“Yes, I know,” Hijikata said, clenching his teeth together, “I know he can’t possibly be alive because I saw him die. I know he’s dead because _I killed him._ ”

Kondou stared at him, mouth working soundlessly, like he was in a similar stupor to the one Hijikata had existed in for days on end, trying to make sense of the sightings. 

“At first I thought someone might be impersonating him to agitate me—and doing a damn good job of it.” Hijikata shook his head. “But after today…I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He thought back to the burning tree at the Koudoukan Dojo. “Maybe I _am_ going out of my mind…or maybe his ghost is truly haunting me.”

There was a long spell of silence between them, the revelation of his own personal spectre leaving little room for anything else. 

Finally, Kondou spoke, slowly and carefully, as though weighing each one of his words. “We did everything that we could, and the proper rites were given, so there should be no reason for his return… That belief aside, do you think that you might be suffering from stress-induced hallucinations?”

Hijikata stared at him. “What?”

Kondou grimaced, adding, “I know ‘hallucination’ is a strong word, but I’ve been doing some reading on the effects of stress and trauma on soldiers, especially us samurai. Given what we’ve been through, what _you’ve_ been through – well, I think it’s a possibility worth considering. This is a new era, and I want to make sure we get the help we need now that we’re not constantly on the frontlines of war.”

A tiny breath escaped Hijikata’s lips, as if his lungs had given up and he was giving up the ghost himself. “You don’t believe me…” His heavy eyelids fell shut. “Do you?”

“It’s not that—”

Hijikata gave an exasperated sigh. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything in the first place. I wouldn’t expect Tetsu or Sougo or anyone else to understand, to believe me, but I thought _you_ of all people would have a little faith in me.”

“I do have faith—Toushi, _please,_ listen to me. I trust you wholeheartedly, and with my life! But this isn’t the first time you’ve experienced something like this,” Kondou said, “Sougo told me that you thought you had been chasing somebody, and you were angry with him, angry that he didn’t stop whoever it was you _thought_ you were chasing—”

Hijikata barked a harsh, derisive laugh. _“Sougo._ He’s been waiting for a chance like this his whole life and now he has it.”

Before Kondou could protest further, there was a knock at the side door leading outside.

“Not now!” Kondou called out.

“S-Sorry, Chief!” Yamazaki said through the siding, “I was just looking for Vice-Chief. I’ll come back later—”

Before his mind registered his body acting on instinct, Hijikata was sliding the door open to reveal a surprised Yamazaki in mid-turn to leave. “Did you find anything?” Hijikata demanded, forgetting that he was in the middle of a serious conversation with Kondou. This was rude behaviour to display before others, and that it would only worsen his defense. But he’d been waiting two days for Yamazaki’s report. 

Yamazaki’s eyes darted back and forth between Hijikata and Kondou. “Uh, no, I…I didn’t find anyone like him, and based on the description you gave me, I asked around and no one else has heard or seen somebody like that.”

“Like who?” Kondou joined Hijikata at the door, casting a suspicious glance at Hijikata before addressing Yamazaki. “What or who are you talking about?”

Hijikata swallowed hard. The situation was about to worsen into something he couldn’t take back. He could feel the tension in the air, sense the shift about to happen, like a storm overhead, threatening rain.

Yamazaki gave the name of the man Hijikata knew best as Shi.

Everything moved fast after that. Kondou ordered Yamazaki to leave, and then he shut the door once more, scowling at Hijikata. “What did you tell Zaki to do? Did you tell him to look for…?”

Hijikata couldn’t answer.

It was Kondou’s turn to sigh in frustration, as he walked toward his desk, one hand on his waist and the other grasping at his hair. “I don’t believe this…and after I told you not to do anything work-related on your day off! Are my orders just suggestions to you now?” Kondou turned to face him, disappointment and disapproval heavily lined on his scarred face. “Toushi, what’s happening? This isn’t like you!”

“You think I haven’t been asking myself what the hell is happening?” Hijikata snapped, “You weren’t there for the entire night! None of you were, and everyone who was is dead now. I’m the last survivor of that room, the last person who remembers everything that happened inside that room.” He took one step forward, one trembling hand curling into a fist. _“He_ knows it, too…and that’s why he’s come back.” The rising head at the well had dismissed the impersonator possibility altogether.

Kondou stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “Do you hear what you’re saying right now—”

“Are _you_ listening to me at all?!” Hijikata exploded, “Damn it, Kondou-san! I’m trying to talk to you! I’m trying to tell you about everything that is destroying me from the inside out, but you’re not hearing me.” Pausing to take a deep breath, to get his temper under control, Hijikata continued, “You don’t know what I’ve been seeing… Not just him, but I see that room, I feel the heat, I smell the blood. I’m _there_ again, and I can’t leave, no matter what I do. Maybe you’re right about the trauma disorder, but I know what I saw at that well, and the tree, and the—”

“The tree?”

“The tree at Otae-san’s—” Hijikata stopped short, realized his error too late.

Kondou grew still, and asked in a quiet voice, “What do you mean, Otae-san? How is she involved?”

Hijikata gave up the fight and admitted in an equally low voice, “Otae-san and Tsukuyo-san…I asked them both to do me a favour.”

After hearing the half-hearted explanation and the description of the burning tree and the accidental yet brief fire, Kondou shook his head again, jaw agape. “Toushi, this man is dead! You told Otae-san and Tsukuyo-san to keep watch for a dead man—” Kondou clasped a hand over his mouth, eyes closed with a deeply creased brow. He didn’t speak or move for a long time, though he breathed heavily through his fingers. 

Hijikata waited for what seemed an eternity for something to happen. 

When he finally looked up, Kondou said in a tight voice, “As of today, I’m placing you on an indefinite leave of absence.”

“What for?”

“For disobeying my orders and for endangering others unrelated to this matter. You are not to take on any investigations or patrol shifts during this time.” Kondou’s voice wavered slightly. “I want you to use that time to take care of yourself, and I also want you to consider speaking to a professional.”

“A professional? Like who? Doctors, priests, monks? What do you want me to get help for exactly? My delusions? My stress? The ghost, maybe?” 

“If you’re not comfortable speaking to a professional yet, you can talk to me for a start—”

Hijikata almost laughed again. “I have been! But look where that got me.” Hijikata shook his head. “No, no one can help me now.” A lump formed in his throat, as he thought about how he had pleaded for help in a roundabout way from Kondou, had trusted his oldest friend with secrets so personal and terrifying, and this was his response. “Not even _you.”_

Kondou’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Toushi…I…I want to help you-”

Hijikata stormed out before he could hear anything more because his heart couldn’t stand the shame and the hurt any longer.

* * *

Hijikata decided to give up on sleep.

All through the night, he had been plagued with guilt from his argument with Kondou, and then with anxiety from the nightmarish visitations of increasingly tangible memories of that fateful summer’s night at the Golden Maple Inn. He drifted in and out of restless sleep, and awoke that morning with his body coated in perspiration and his eyes leaden with unrest. Sitting upright immediately reminded him of his head wound, pain pulsating inside and throughout his skull, and he was certain that half the pain resulted from his brain trying to sort out where everything had gone wrong. 

Tetsunosuke delivered breakfast to Hijikata’s quarters, so he could eat in private. After yesterday – and word of his suspension had spread fast – he did not want to mingle with his comrades and subject himself to curious stares and surreptitious whispers about the physical and mental state of their vice-chief. He got enough of that from the washroom mirrors and the walls of his room where his own questions, muttered aloud, would bounce off and return to him, empty of answers. 

Hijikata picked through a meal of rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and pickles for breakfast along with generous dollops of mayonnaise that usually enhanced all flavours. But instead, everything – even the mayonnaise – lacked taste to the point where it seemed all he was doing was exercising his jaw, teeth grinding it all down to the tiniest fragments before swallowing and repeating until every last morsel was gone from his tray.

He promptly regurgitated at least half of it in the washroom later, and then spent time at the sink, rinsing his mouth and assessing himself in the mirror once more, noting his pale and haggard complexion with grim acceptance. His hair was uncombed and there were the beginnings of dark stubble from the past few days of forgetting to properly groom himself, but nothing was darker than the shadows around and within his eyes. 

A rookie officer quickly entered and departed the facilities, washing his hands and avoiding Hijikata’s hollow gaze that dared anyone to comment on his current dilapidated state. When he was alone again, Hijikata sighed and tried to smooth down the rebellious hair follicles into a semblance of orderly neatness that he had always adhered to. 

This was not him. This was not who he wanted to be. 

Hijikata didn’t doubt that many of his problems had psychological roots, but he felt like he was the only one to consider an element of supernatural as well. Yet, he struggled with accepting that a ghost was truly haunting him because it seemed like something straight out of centuries’ old tales. The other explanation of impersonation for cruel amusement and revenge still weighed on his mind, and he would almost rather believe that instead. Not all members of Shi’s faction had been captured, but they had been silent for years since then. Even if they managed to concoct a plan of vengeance, it would be difficult for them to achieve feats of vanishing without a trace, without witnesses. They would be older men now, incapable of the speed and strength they’d once held as young warriors. 

Either way, there was a conspiracy to cause others to doubt him while the perpetrators closed in, prepared to sink their jaws into the neck of the Shinsengumi with one of their leaders incapacitated from disbelief. It was working already. 

Because he just couldn’t believe that it was all in his head as the others did.

Kondou was right about unresolved issues causing anxiety and general debility. It happened from time to time, and most tried to conceal their struggles for a variety of reasons. Hijikata counted himself among such people. Mostly, he did not want others to worry about him, and he did not want to appear weak in any way. But, as he grew older, he had to admit that there were inner wounds that might not heal, or at least might not have the chance to heal if he kept all his trauma locked up inside forever. 

But speaking to a psychiatrist was something Hijikata did not feel quite ready for. A confidante for many years, Kondou had offered to listen, as a first step toward unloading his burdens and feeling freer, but considering the way their last conversation had ended… Hijikata closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He was still angry at Kondou’s apparent distrust in him, and the skepticism of others, believing that he was only suffering hallucinations as a result of stress and now his concussion. Talking with Kondou again would not be happening anytime soon.

Sighing, Hijikata continued on with his day.

Later, he stopped at the Archives room before retreating to his quarters where he might find some solace. Glancing skyward, he noted how lower the sun was now, how time had passed quickly without him noticing. What had he been doing for the past four hours? Breakfast and training. Visits to the local Shinto and Buddhist shrines, desperate for some answers and purification rituals. Skipped lunch and smoked instead, curbing his appetite for fear of vomiting again. All the time in between, he remembered nothing. He might have been aimlessly drifting along the streets for all he knew. The gaps in his memories should be concerning, but at the moment, Hijikata didn’t care. 

He didn’t care about anything at all except Shi.

Night was a deepening dark bruise on the horizon, creeping inward with the promise of another sleepless night as well as the threat of rain. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and the wind picked up, stirring the tree canopies to life, their leaves sounding like a sudden flutter of birds fleeing impending danger. Standing out on the engawa with a cigarette hanging from his lips and his arms tucked within his sleeves, Hijikata watched the storm roll in with flashes of lighting in the blackening night sky. He heard the men rouse themselves from their evening conversations and tasks close the storm shutters, and he joined them in action, sliding the nearest one in place and latching it secure, and just in time. Those who were out on patrols for the night were sure to be caught in the downpour somewhere. Some nights he took on a patrol shift, but he would not be doing so for awhile, it seemed.

Alone in his room, Hijikata extinguished his cigarette, lit a small candle at his low set table, and then stared at the file he had borrowed once more from the Archives: _Golden Maple Inn, 1863_. Though it lay harmlessly flat on the tabletop, its very presence, coupled with the dull thud of rain and peals of thunder against the walls, possessed an ominous aura that made Hijikata reluctant to open it up and reread the contents within. He really didn’t need to, for he had long committed to memory every extra detail written in by outsiders. He knew everything that had happened on that night, from beginning to end, including what was omitted inside that report.

Maybe that was why Shi sought him out.

The single wick candle was half-used, creating a halo of dim light around itself. Hijikata watched the flame gently sway side to side, its light reflecting in a ring of misshapen wax. After some time, he became aware of a heavy silence, and found that he could no longer hear the storm. When had it stopped? And how long had he been senselessly staring at the candle? Shaking his head, Hijikata cursed under his breath and rubbed the sides of his temple with a deep frown. Then, he closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing in and out slowly in an attempt to wrestle his mind under control. Losing himself so easily would not do. Kondou wanted him well, and while Hijikata didn’t know when they would speak next, he was determined to present a healthier, stronger self by the time they did. 

Meditating on the Shinsengumi regulations, which he silently recited one by one, mouth moving wordlessly, Hijikata felt a bead of sweat slide down his neck, and when he rolled one shoulder to work out the stiffness across his ligaments, his clothing brushed against more beads of moisture forming down the length of his spine. Opening his eyes, Hijikata reached up and wiped his brow, finding more sweat. The room had grown warmer, which was not unusual in the summer, but the storm had brought cooler air to the area. Just lifting his hand had felt like reaching through a thick cloud of heat. Every breath he took now drew in a kind of sultriness that reminded him of that night.

_No…_

Hijikata swallowed hard, and when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were trembling. Clenching his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, Hijikata tried to steel himself for the inevitable nightmare until he remembered that he was still awake. Or was he? He pinched one of his arms, hard, wincing at the brief pain while glancing around the shadowed room, hoping he was still in his own reality. 

One of the shadows shifted in the southeast corner.

Hijikata froze, his heart leaping into his throat and his blood going cold at once in spite of the heat. He stared at that corner, not daring to turn away or even blink, waiting for something to transpire, something to show itself in the scant candle light.

But nothing happened.

Exhaling in relief, Hijikata leaned forward, intending to get up from the floor when all the hairs on his neck rose at once in response to a hot breath on his exposed nape. Petrified, Hijikata’s own breath came out in shallow gasps, as he felt a presence drape around him, trapping him in a vise of suffocating heat, drawing out and drenching him in sweat. It panted heavily against his neck. His whole body began shaking, a rasping noise escaping his throat, mouth working to form words, to form a plea for help, to yell. He gulped down a breath—

And smelled blood. 

Hijikata shot to his feet, crying out as he rushed toward the outside, slamming open the door and fumbling with the latch of the storm shutter. He had to get out of there, out of the building entirely. Stumbling to the engawa and jumping down onto the ground, Hijikata ran into the darkness, into the pouring rain, his bare feet crushing grass and embedding sharp pebbles into the muddied ground. He ran until he reached the walls and then collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. A flash of lightning followed by a thunderclap filled his ears alongside the downpour, as the rain soaked through to his skin, cleansing him of the sweat but not the fear. 

He sensed a presence approach from behind.

In despair, Hijikata heaved a sigh and leaned back on his haunches, chin dipped low toward his chest, as though preparing himself for ritual suicide. The rainwater streamed down his neck, trailing down his chest and dripping off the fringes of his hair. He wanted everything to be done, for the vengeance to be completed, so that he would be granted peace at last. Death would be the price for taking away numerous lives over the years with bloodstained hands. Shi had come for him, and so Hijikata closed his eyes and waited for the end.

“…Vice-Chief-z.”

Hijikata gave a start at the mercifully intrusive low voice that he heard maybe once a year. Opening his eyes and turning his head to the side, he stared almost unblinkingly into the face of the third unit’s captain.

Standing a few feet away, Shimaru’s crimson gaze held a tinge of what Hijikata could only view as pity. The silent captain still wore his uniform with both swords strapped to his back. With his thick orange hair weighted down by the rain and half of his face covered by a black mask, Shimaru extended a hand toward him, and waited. Hijikata noticed that Shimaru’s other hand held a damp notebook with words whose ink blurred together, almost unreadable. Nevertheless, Hijikata could make out a single question:

_Are you all right-z?_

Shimaru must have been standing there for a minute, waiting for Hijikata to turn around and read his notebook. Maybe Shimaru had even tried to clear his throat in his usual awkward attempts to have others acknowledge his presence. The man wasn’t comfortable with verbal communication, and Hijikata instantly felt worse for forcing Shimaru to speak. In all the years they had known each other, Hijikata had done his best to communicate with Shimaru through other ways until they had both grown accustomed to reading one another’s intent through physical cues alone and understanding without needing to say a single word. But tonight, Hijikata had not been able to properly hear or sense his old friend, who had become troubled to the point of speaking for Hijikata’s sake. 

Hijikata shut his eyes again, disappointment deluging him more than the rain ever could. One by one, he was failing everyone.

There was no sign of the rain stopping soon, so Hijikata reached out and took Shimaru’s hand, allowing himself to be hauled upward. Shimaru let go the second Hijikata was firmly on his feet. Holding up his notebook and turning to the next, dryer page, Shimaru had written: _Please come in out of the rain-z._

At least Shimaru wasn’t asking about why Hijikata had fled into the storm with the eyes of a madman. He knew how he must look now, as he glanced toward the complex where few men had poked their heads outside to watch and cast one another questioning looks. Ordinarily, Hijikata would rebuke them for gawking instead of tending to their evening duties, but he hadn’t the strength to do so. He knew what they were all thinking. 

A third person stood out in the rain, halfway toward them, frozen in mid-step. Kondou looked stricken, his mouth open, as if he had been about to call for them. 

Behind him on the engawa stood Sougo, regarding Hijikata with a gaze sharper than the blade he carried.

Hijikata looked away from both of them, and then walked back toward his room, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, so as not to appear weaker before those who looked to him as an example of the ideal samurai. In time they would discover that ideals often failed and faded away.

He did not want to go back inside, but he had no other choice. Sliding the door shut, Hijikata met the silence and the shadows head on. He sat cross-legged and cross-armed in the center of his futon, and resisted the pull of exhaustion.

He would stay awake all night if he had to.

* * *

Two more days until Operation Matchstick commenced – it was all Hijikata could think about, as he spent another morning trying to occupy his mind with anything but the operation. Or Shi. He had spent the entire night mostly awake, drifting in and out of sleep, often waking himself up with a gasp, as though he was breaking through the surface of a dark and depthless sea only to find no land in sight. There was only the dying candlelight and the rising dawn to bring him some respite from a long night of paranoid vigilance.

Hijikata had fought through nights before, had gone for long periods without sleep while nursing injuries or keeping watch over his comrades. But this night had been completely different, his body and mind exhausted from anxiety and the reality of his haunting. Every shadow on the wall, every creak of the floorboards, every prickle on his skin – Hijikata paid attention to everything. In the end, nothing had come for him again, but he was not to know that until the morning, finding that the waiting and the watching had been a waste.

He left the complex while it was still early, the sun slowly peering over rooftops. Unwilling to dwell in silence again, he sought out streets busy with shopkeepers and vendors opening up and setting out their wares and sweeping the streets and calling for customers. Various scents of breakfast and baked goods spilled from the doorways of restaurants and cafes when people walked in and out. Above him, the faint roars of starship engines and their contrails filled the sky, the glimmering height of the Space Terminal visible even from this area.

Hijikata took in all the sights of the living with bleak indifference, as he meandered through the growing bustle of people. He didn’t know where he’d go or how long he’d be away. Before long, Kondou or Tetsunosuke would notice his absence, and probably send someone after him to ensure he wasn’t breaking the limits of his suspension. He had no intention of deviating from Kondou’s orders, but it didn’t mean he had to stay inside his room all day in simulated house arrest.

Even so, a small part of him warned against taking this excursion beyond its original purpose, which was to immerse himself in the routines of an ordinary day. He wanted to drop in at his favourite restaurant for an old comfort – his mayonnaise on rice special. And then he wanted to take a quiet walk in the nearest park, commune with nature for a bit to put his mind at ease. And then…he didn’t know what he would do next, what he _should_ do before he found himself at the mercy of nightfall again. If he couldn’t resolve this, then he was doomed to live out the rest of his days in ghostly torment.

Sighing, Hijikata thought about returning to a nearby Shinto temple for another crack at purification or additional guidance, at least. 

Instead, his feet were taking him down a shortcut, down a familiar path that he knew should not walk. 

Someone else knew it, too.

“You’re going back to that inn, aren’t you?”

Hijikata almost jumped at the sound of the familiar flat-toned voice, but he managed to suppress all visible signs that he’d been caught off guard by the one person he’d be cautious of for many years in more ways than one. Slowly turning around to face Sougo, Hijikata’s hand absently moved to rest on the hilt of his sword before he realized he had forgotten to take it.

Dressed in full uniform with his hands shoved in his pockets, Sougo glanced around the near empty lane, and waited until the last person within earshot had turned around the corner before he spoke. “I know where this way leads and how long it takes.” The sun behind him set his face in cool shadows. “I was there that night, too.”

Hijikata blinked once and replied, impatiently, “I’m not interested in talking about it – least of all, to you.”

“Kondou-san wouldn’t let me join your group,” Sougo continued, ignoring the request with his usual impertinence, “He said he needed me to keep watch with the others, but he probably thought I wasn’t old enough, even though I was the best swordsman. I think he was trying to protect what remaining innocence I had.” He paused, gaze sweeping the ground before settling on Hijikata. “I hadn’t killed a man yet, but I knew I could.”

The air between them was tense and uncertain, a feeling that reminded Hijikata too much of the past night.

“I may not always agree with Kondou’s decisions, but I trust he knows what he’s doing. He’s never steered us wrong before, and if it seems like he has, then it’s not because of anything he’s done.” Sougo stared hard at Hijikata, crimson eyes smouldering with something like anger. “I respected his decision to make you vice-chief of our group only because Kondou-san wouldn’t knowingly assign a fool to such an important position. He trusts you more than anyone else.”

“Where are you going with this?” Hijikata demanded, gruffly.

“What you’re doing now, how you’re acting – jumping at every sneeze, every shadow, like some crazed cat… Ignoring orders, putting yourself and others in danger, trashing a civilian’s shop, failing to uphold and recite regulation before the men who follow you…” Sougo’s gaze sharpened into a glare. “No matter what excuse you make, your behaviour reflects poorly on Kondou-san. You make him the fool instead. You make others question his confidence in you.”

Hijikata returned the glare in full. “Enough…” The last thing he needed was another reminder about his massive failure, and one particularly from the last person he ever wanted to hear it from.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m tired of waiting to find out. Your obsession with that inn and what happened years ago is interfering with your duty,” Sougo said, voice growing lower and darker, “You’re refusing to get any help for yourself. It’s almost as if you _want_ to roll about in your own miserable filth, so that everyone will pity you. You’re no longer in a condition to lead us. Instead, you’re bringing us down.”

“Sougo, I’m warning you…”

“What are you going to do? You left without your sword.” Sougo’s hands lifted out of his pockets, fingers extending and retracting into open air, heightening the tension between them. “I’ve been trailing you ever since, and the fact that you never noticed until now just shows how weak you’ve become.”

Hijikata would never admit it, but Sougo was right. Hijikata had sensed nothing along the way, his mind too preoccupied with thoughts of blood and war and ghostly vengeance. 

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re making up this ghost story…because why would that man wait until now to take his revenge?”

How Sougo knew this much could be attributed to conversations with Kondou behind Hijikata’s back. As always, Sougo’s end goal was to unseat Hijikata from his position of authority, and his current situation provided the perfect opportunity to move in and snatch away the role of vice-chief. The thought of it incensed Hijikata further. 

“If I were a ghost seeking revenge, I wouldn’t wait this long. Some people have the patience to plan, but I’ve never been a patient man. I prefer getting the job done right then and there.”

Hijikata was beginning to breath shallowly, swallowing hard, trying to keep himself in check. “Sougo, shut up. Shut up right now, and get out of my sight—”

“But sometimes the dead don’t come back to life,” Sougo said in a cold voice, “I know that very well, or have you already forgotten my sister? She never came back because she didn’t need to, even though others had done so much wrong to her. Sometimes I wish she would, so I could see her…and I’d take revenge for her if she wanted.”

Hijikata’s heart clenched painfully. “Don’t bring her into this—”

“Don’t _tell_ me what to do,” Sougo snarled, glowering at him, “I’ve had enough of taking orders from you, you _bastard.”_

Before he could fully comprehend the situation, Hijikata’s body had moved of its own accord, advancing on pure fury, lunging out to grab Sougo by the collar of his uniform.

But the younger, healthier Sougo, who was not beset by a spectral presence, was quicker with a punch to the nose. 

Instantly, Hijikata’s nostrils exploded with pain and dripping blood, as he stumbled backward and slammed to the pavement on his backside. Touching gingerly around his nose, Hijikata stared at the blood on his fingers and breathed through his mouth, as soreness spread throughout his body, along with humiliation.

A shadow loomed over him. “Well, would you look at that? You’ve weakened your own body to the point where I can knock you down with a single punch. It wasn’t even my hardest punch.” 

“Get the hell away from me, asshole,” Hijikata growled, covering his nose with one hand and standing up. “You got what you wanted, all right? Kondou-san will promote you and I’ll finally get what I deserve. Are you happy now? Congratulations, you win!” 

“You and I both know we’re not the same as Kondou-san,” Sougo said after several moments of heavy silence, massaging his knuckles and going on as if he hadn’t heard, “We’re no-good delinquents who only know how to fight. We’re stubborn pains in the ass, but we’re both the type to defend our general to any end.” Sougo looked at him. “If I had been in your position that night, I probably would’ve done the same thing, too.”

Hijikata stared at him, confused by the swerve in their exchange.

“And that’s what I hate about you.” Giving him one final glare, Sougo turned around and went back in the way he had come from, leaving Hijikata alone as he had wanted.

Hijikata used his sleeve to wipe at his mouth, smearing the cloth with blood and then spitting out the rest. There wasn’t much point to continuing on when he had a bloody and probably bruising nose to contend with, not to mention the gawking passersby and the unease on some of their faces, as he made his way back to the Shinsengumi headquarters, pinching his nose with streaks of blood on his pallid face and neck. 

He would resume his journey back to the Golden Maple Inn tonight.

* * *

As expected, though they had not held a real conversation since the day of their argument, Kondou had intercepted him in the entranceway when Hijikata returned to headquarters later that morning. 

“What happened?” 

“Courtesy of your self-proclaimed, new vice-chief,” Hijikata only offered in return with an edge of bitterness augmented by the sight of Kondou in full uniform.

“What?” Kondou frowned. “What are you talking about—?”

Hijikata waved a dismissive hand, continuing on his way. “It’s nothing.”

“Toushi, I’m worried—”

“You don’t need to worry about me at all, Kondou-san.” 

It hurt to leave Kondou behind with a cool reply and a widening gap between them, but Hijikata was not yet ready to confront his wounds. 

With the exception of Tetsunosuke, who offered to clean his clothing right away and who Hijikata swiftly dismissed in a desire to be alone, no one else bothered to talk to him. And he was glad for it. He spent the rest of the day rereading through the _Golden Maple Inn, 1863_ report, and then reread it a second time just to be sure he had not missed anything – which was a silly idea, for he knew every detail of the past in that regard. But, up to this point, he had been afraid to revisit that night, having spent long years putting it all behind him despite living off the benefit of the name, _demon._

Now, he welcomed the memories.

After a restless sleep with echoes of screams and intelligible words spoken urgently, Hijikata awoke to evening to a new bottle of mayonnaise and a note from Tetsunosuke, indicating that he would be on standby to have a meal prepared when Hijikata was ready for it. Deciding that it would be in his best interest to consume a full meal in case it was his last, Hijikata notified Tetsunosuke and went ahead with dinner alone in his quarters with the doors shut, sealing off the outside world.

When night arrived, judging by the time on his cell phone, Hijikata quelled all rising fears and habitual anxieties, and instead steeled his resolve. He took time to meditate and go over the plan in his mind. 

At quarter past one in the morning, he threw on the black trousers and white shirt and gold-trimmed black vest that he typically wore while on duty, but dispensed with the jacket and cravat. Next he secured his sword to his waist and grabbed the pack of cigarettes with three remaining sticks. He took out his lighter and kindled one cigarette, sliding it between his lips and inhaling a long drag. Exhaling smoke, he grabbed his boots and stepped outside where a few lanterns emitted just enough light for him to find his way through the courtyard to a side entrance where he quietly slipped out into the streets. Raising his eyes to catch a sliver of the moon before it became enshrouded in clouds, Hijikata drew in a deep breath and squared his jaw.

Tonight, this would all finally end.

* * *

Utilizing a series of narrow and less traveled pathways, Hijikata soon found himself within the vicinity of the former Golden Maple Inn, only he had approached from a direction that let him access the back alley interposed between the old structure and a newer building whose height blotted out most of the moonlight. He had encountered few people on the way, but they hadn’t noticed him. This wasn’t the first time he had come to this place undetected, after all.

Standing before the back door marked for employees only, Hijikata found himself hesitating. Once again, he was about to disobey Kondou’s orders and prove Sougo’s claim of his obsession. Neither boded well for his future as a vice-chief or his relationship with those he had known the longest. But it was too late to go back. He was here now, at the heart of all the disturbances, all the nightmares, and all the memories. Too much time had been wasted in avoiding and cowering before Shi. 

As he had recalled from reading up on the basic infrastructure during his last visit as a respected officer of the law, Hijikata knew that such an old building lacked alarms and security cameras found in more modern structures. The front entrances were fortified with rolling grilles and the lone back door was fastened with a dull-gold padlock. Maybe the antique shopkeeper, at least, ought to consider investing in better security for his priceless items, but that was an insignificant thought to dwell on right now.

Hijikata took out his cigarette and stamped it dead on the ground, and then rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Then, after glancing down the alley in both directions and seeing no one, he reached into his pocket for a lock pick and set about disengaging the padlock, reaching success in less than a minute. He pulled the door open, cast one more look down the alley, and then stepped inside and shut the door carefully.

Utter darkness greeted him along with the slight creak of the floorboards and the scent of cypress mingling with dust. Hijikata took a few steps forward and stretched out his arm, hand pressing upon a wooden wall with familiarity. This would have been the hallway that connected the old kitchens and employee quarters, which had now been converted into rooms for different purposes, depending on the shop owner. But he knew if he continued down toward the antique shop’s end of things, he’d be exactly where the primary confrontation with Shi took place.

Switching on a small, thin flashlight, Hijikata headed straight for a particular room that might have escaped the attention of the shopkeeper. He hadn’t known about it himself the first time he entered the inn until he noticed scratch and scuff marks betraying a hidden entrance to a storeroom, which used to house rice and excess supplies as well as money and ledger collections and other valuable items. After raiding through all the floors and rounding up survivors who surrendered, they had caught Shi hiding in that secret room where he would later live out the last hour of his life.

It was in that room that Hijikata believed he would be able to properly meet with Shi at last.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Hijikata shone the flashlight around the bend at another door, catching a reflection of the name plate identifying the antique shop and owner. Through that way would be the stairs and the back room before opening into the main shop area. But it was out here where he would find that secret room. If he hadn’t been castigated by the shopkeeper or so hellbent on searching the top floors, he would have gone to check this lower-level room, but in the ensuing events, he had nearly forgotten it until he had read through the report again. 

Turning his flashlight to the adjacent wall, Hijikata scanned all around for cracks, fingerprints – anything that might indicate regular use of the secret room. But the walls were scrubbed clean, almost immaculate but for signs of age in a knot or whorl here and there. He dragged a hand across the paneling, remembering that there would have been a couple of slits in the wood near the top where he had fought an enemy. But then they would have replaced all walls stained with blood and slash marks. 

Knowing he was short on time if he was to make it back into headquarters without anyone having noticed his absence, Hijikata decided that enough was enough. Tucking the flashlight between his teeth, Hijikata placed both hands on the wall and firmly pushed inward, suspecting that he might have to use more force to open a panel door if it hadn’t been used in years. He moved from side to side, pressing his weight against the wall, seeking enough leeway to determine where the door actually was. After a minute of grunted exertion, he heard a scraping noise toward the farthest left. A sense of thrill shot through him, as he moved to that far end and began to throw his full weight against the panel, alternating with his shoulder and a few kicks. After several tries, the door creaked and groaned and gave way, sliding open into a blackness that seemed to expel a dank breath of dust and decay into his face.

Taking a moment to remove the flashlight from his mouth and catch his breath, Hijikata assessed the entrance while rubbing his right shoulder, which was slightly tender from slamming it against the wall. The side of the door was the width of one hand span, and the threshold was lined with chafe marks and chipped wood. It had not been replaced as the door itself. He knelt down and closely inspected the floorboards, searching for signs of recent openings. Very faintly, there were tiny scratch marks that hadn’t vanished from numerous scrubbings. These marks stretched in a curve from the panel door opening outward, probably from somebody leaving the room. Anyone could have made them, so long as they had the knowledge of this secret room.

Hijikata stared at the marks for a while longer, feeling a tiny spark of hope that his other theory of an impersonator or a group of people elaborately conspiring against him could be possible. However, he couldn’t rule out the ghost yet. Shi had every reason to come back for him. A vengeful ghost didn’t dwell on its own sense of morality in its previous life and it didn’t consider that they had been two men on different sides of war; it only focused on how it had been wronged and who should pay.

And it wasn’t an impossibility, given the amount of people he had killed and those he had certainly mistreated, as Sougo’s voice echoed in his mind, prompting a flash of Mitsuba’s somber expression during the last time he had seen her. Hijikata grimaced. He firmly believed that her spirit had gone on to an afterlife bereft of suffering because it wasn’t in her to remain behind and hold grudges and torture others. But he didn’t doubt that more than one person would try to break the boundary between this life and the next. There were more than enough people who’d want vengeance against the demon, whose bloodstained face and steely eyes were often the last sight they comprehended in their death rattle.

Hijikata would always remember Shi in that hidden room.

Finding that his hands were trembling again along with something inside of him, Hijikata pushed forward through his apprehension and maneuvered sideways into the room after casting the flashlight around in quick surveillance. Inside the air was muggy and stale. There were only shelves with a few wooden storage containers remaining, along with a pile of age-ridden ledgers and an empty barrel missing its lid, reminding him too much of the old well. The size was about four paces wide all around, nearly a perfect square. The floor, made of the same wood as the rest of the building, was nowhere near as clean as the outside. Dirt and dust coated every floorboard along with misshapen imprints, some of which had been marred with brush strokes, probably from a broom. But one print hadn’t quite lost the telltale shape of three toes.

Someone had been in here recently – a real, physical being.

Hijikata could feel his heart rate increase with anticipation. Clue by clue, it was all coming together, as it should have in the first place. There were still some elements unaccounted for, like the very real hauntings and hallucinations that had besieged him this past week, but he was confident that once he solved the mystery here or encountered Shi’s ghost without interference, Hijikata would finally be vindicated.

Some kind of tangible proof was needed, however, to justify his nightly excursion against Kondou’s orders if the culprit turned out to be flesh and blood. None of this would look good to the Shinsengumi, Hijikata knew that much. Even he would not have tolerated deliberate disobedience from his subordinates, but there was more at stake here.

First, though, he needed to give Shi time to reveal himself.

Pushing the panel door shut until it was a seamless part of the wall again, Hijikata took a deep breath and resigned himself to a meeting with a ghost. He gave the room one final sweep with the flashlight to ensure that he was alone. He also took one of the ledgers, thinking he’d browse through it and see if it had once belonged to the inn. He opened one of the wooden boxes on the nearest shelf and saw that it contained several unused candles. Then, he found a gilt copper candle holder in the corner and brushed off the dust from it, wondering if the antique shopkeeper knew this old candle stand was here or not. Maybe it even belonged to him, which set off another series of suspicions in Hijikata’s mind.

After setting everything up, he clicked off his flashlight and tucked it back into his pocket. Hijikata dropped the ledger to the floor and sat down beside it and rested his hands on his knees, and waited. The floorboards were colder than he expected, thinking that perhaps they were built closer to the ground instead of raised up, as decreed by the standards of traditional foundations. Hijikata welcomed the coolness, as he loosened a couple of buttons on his shirt and wiped off sweat from his forehead. He had exerted more effort than expected in forcing the panel door open, enervated from days of undernourishment, fewer training sessions, increased smoking, and less sleep. On top of that, his shoulder ached painfully.

After several long minutes of silence, Hijikata whispered, “I’m here.”

The candle flame continued to burn as the only other sign of life within the room. Hijikata lit his second last cigarette to steady his nerves and his hands again, and cursed himself for his toxic dependency. 

Carrying on, Hijikata said, “I know you have business with me.” He couldn’t help feeling a little ridiculous in speaking to an empty room, but he didn’t know how to summon a ghost when that ghost had come to him unbidden before. “I know why you’ve come back.” Slowly, he allowed the memories to unfurl again, remembering where he had stood in this room and where Shi had been bound at the mercy of his enemies, laid before their feet. 

Hijikata swallowed hard, as the room seemed to grow warmer and his blood coursed faster through his veins in response to the temperature change. “You weren’t giving up names, you weren’t telling us where… I did what I had to do, but…” He paused, considering his next words. “Maybe I did _more_ than I had to, but that was the era we lived in. We both know that. You left me no choice.”

He spent a few minutes waiting for an apparition, but still nothing showed itself. Maybe he ought to have read up on the subject, memorize the ways difficult cultures used to summon ghosts. But then he remembered that he was terrified of ghosts to begin with, and so reading about them was not exactly a high priority. For one moment, he felt removed from his body, like his soul was glancing down at his earthly vessel and asking why the hell he was doing this. It wasn’t like going to meet a friend for lunch or facing an enemy in battle. He was trying to see and talk to a literal spirit, who would have no limitations when it came to ending his life. 

Hijikata clambered to his feet, dropping his cigarette to the floor in the process. He stood rooted in place for several seconds, staring at the candle until his nose started twitching with a familiar scent.

_No…not again._

He spun around and reached for the panel door when he froze at the sight of blood splatter across the wood, exactly as he remembered it on that night. Gasping, Hijikata backed away from the door and knocked over the candle stand. Flinching at the loud impact, he spun around and was horrified to see the flame and liquid wax slowly spread on the floorboards. “Shit!” Worse still, his fallen cigarette’s embers were feeding away at the ledger and growing into a small fire, surrounded by a pool of blood.

_Wait…_

“This isn’t real,” Hijikata murmured, shutting his eyes and rubbing the sides of his head, “This is a dream.” A lucid dream he had wandered into amid his distress and desire to communicate with the dead. This was the nightmare all over again, reminding him of what he had done and what had transpired afterward. The blood was not real. The flames were not real.

Nothing was real anymore.

Hijikata fought to control his breathing, mouth moving soundlessly, repeating mantras of courage and calmness to rein in his fear and dispel the dream. Sweat poured into his eyes as the nightmare intensified with heat and flames and smoke, which rose and coiled into his lungs. Backing away from the burning floorboards and the charring remains of the ledger, Hijikata sank against the panel door, coughing and gagging from the strong smell of both blood and smoke, confused as to why when the fire shouldn’t be real.

Kondou’s face flickered in Hijikata’s blackening vision.

This was not a dream.

Crying out, Hijikata threw his entire body against the panel door, over and over and over. He had to get free before he passed out, but the wall wouldn’t budge.

The room was growing hotter, smokier, making it hard to breathe, making him weaker than ever.

“K…Kondou-san,” Hijikata rasped, sinking against the wall and sliding down to the floor, “Sougo…” More names passed through his dry lips, but he didn’t hear them. He fell over, pressing his hands and face to the cool floor, sucking in every last bit of oxygen he could find while despairing in the realization that absolutely no one knew where he was at this very moment. No one would be coming to rescue him.

_No…not like this…_

Panting and watching the flames spread around the room, igniting the barrel and shelves and boxes, Hijikata could only think about how _Shi_ had finally achieved his vengeance, as his ghost rose up from where the fire had burned through to the ground beneath the floor, a well of darkness looming below.

“You’re…finally…here,” Hijikata managed to utter in a hoarse voice, one hand reaching for his sword but collapsing to the floor when his physical and mental strength gave out. What would a sword do against a spirit? Nothing.

Shi’s hands were twisted and burnt. Blood dripped from a gash around his neck. His stringy black hair was matted to his head with more blood, and the clothes he wore were the ones he had died in. With his head hanging askew, Shi mouthed a single word:

_Demon._

Hijikata chuckled at the heavy burden of name he had carried across the years. There hadn’t been a more fitting name than demon nor a more fitting death than by the flames of hell where a killer like himself belonged.

As he locked eyes with Shi’s black void of a gaze, Hijikata waited for his final breath to pass. 

Then, another spirit arose from the ground.

Hijikata blinked at the shadowy figure, trying to make out its true form before he lost sight of it completely. Surrounded by flames and crackling wood, the figure approached him, slowly, passing through Shi’s bloody corpse only to reveal itself as Shi once more, whole and undamaged with a look of smouldering pure hatred.

_Not like this…_

Hijikata’s heart thudded against his chest, feeling like it might burst, as a pair of pale hands reached for his neck.

And then all grew still and quiet and terrifyingly dark.


End file.
